S  T  E   WART 

EDWARD 

WHITE 


GIFT  OF 


\1  00 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 


OTHER  BOOKS 
BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

THE  CLAIM  JUMPERS 
THE  WESTERNERS 
THE  BLAZED  TRAIL 
BLAZED  TRAIL  STORIES 
THE  MAGIC  FOREST 
CONJUROR'S  HOUSE 
THE  SILENT  PLACES 
THE  FOREST 
THE  MOUNTAINS 
THE  PASS 
CAMP  AND  TRAIL 
THE  RIVERMAN 
ARIZONA  NIGHTS 
With  Samuel  Hopkins  Adams 
THE  MYSTERY 


"ALWAYS  H  KM  KM  HER  THAT  A  TRUE  SPORTSMAN  IN  EVERY  WAY  IS  ABOUT 
THE  SCARCEST  THING  THEY  MAKE — AND  THE  FINEST.  SO  NATURALLY 
THE  COMMON  RUN  OF  PEOPLE  DON'T  LIVE  UP  TO  IT.  IF  you—  NOT  THE 
THINKING  YOU,  NOR  EVEN  THE  CONSCIENCE  YOU,  BUT  THE  WAY-DOWN- 
DEEP-IN- YOUR- HEART  you  THAT  YOU  CAN*T  FOOL  NOR  TRICK  NOB  LIB 
TO— IF  THAT  VOU  IS  SATISFIED.  IT'S  ALL  RIGHT." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF 
BOBBY  ORDE 


BY 
STEWART  EDWARD  WHITE 


ALT! 


ILLUSTRATED    BY    WORTH    BREHM 


NEW  YORK 
GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF  TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 

COPYRIGHT,    I9II,   BY  DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE   8t   COMPANY 


BY  THE  PHILLIPS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


nn 

CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

I.     THE  BOOMS 3 

II.     THE  PICNIC 36 

III.  HIDE  AND  COOP      .....  67 

IV.  THE  PRINTING  PRESS      .         .         .         .  81 
V.  THE  LITTLE  GIRL            .         .         .         .  91 

VI.  THE  LITTLE  GIRL  ( Continued )        .         .       103 

VII.  UNTIL  THE  LAST  SHOT    .         .         .         .115 

VIII.  THE  FLOBERT  RIFLE       .         .         .         .140 

IX.  MR.  DAGGETT         .         .         .         .         .150 

X.  THE  SPORTSMAN'S  ASSOCIATION       .         .       160 

XI.  THE  MARSHES 167 

XII.  THE  TRESPASSERS  .         .         .         .209 

XIII.  THE  PLAYMATES 221 

XIV,  THE  SHOOTING  CLUB      ....       235 
XV.  THE  UPPER  ROOMS         ,  239 

XVI.    THE  THIRD  STORY  243 


271589 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVII.  "SLIDING  DOWN  HILL"  .  .  .  247 

XVIII.  CHRISTMAS 262 

XIX.  THE  BOXING  MATCH  ....  284 

XX.  THE  PARTNERS 292 

XXI.  WINTER  ....  298 

XXII.  THE  MURDER 304 

XXIH.  THE  TRIAL  .....  317 

XXIV.  THE  TRIAL  ( Continued )  .  .  .322 

XXV.  THE  HOLE  IN  THE  CAP        ...  326 

XXVI.  THE  SIXTEEN-GAUGE  SHOTGUN     .         .  332 

XXVII.  THE  SPORTSMAN  337 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

I 

THE   BOOMS 

At  nine  o'clock  one  morning  Bobby  Orde, 
following  an  agreement  with  his  father,  walked 
sedately  to  the  Proper  Place,  where  he  kept 
his  cap  and  coat  and  other  belongings.  The 
Proper  Place  was  a  small,  dark  closet  under  the 
angle  of  the  stairs.  He  called  it  the  Proper 
Place  just  as  he  called  his  friend  Clifford  Fuller, 
or  the  saw- mill  town  in  which  he  lived  Mon 
rovia — because  he  had  always  heard  it  called  so. 

At  the  door  a  beautiful  black  and  white  setter 
solemnly  joined  him. 

" Hullo,  Duke!"   greeted  Bobby. 

The  dog  swept  back  and  forth  his  magnificent 
feather  tail,  and  fell  in  behind  his  young  master. 

Bobby  knew  the  way  perfectly.  You  went 
to  the  fire-engine  house;  and  then  to  the  left 
after  the  court-house  was  Mr.  Proctor's;  and 
then,  all  at  once,  the  town.  Father's  office  was 
in  the  nearest  square  brick  block.  Bobby  paused, 


:i*    THE: ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

^s  he.ai-ways  riid,  to  look  in  the  first  store  window. 
In  it  was  a  weapon  which  he  knew  to  be  a 
Flobert  Rifle.  It  was  something  to  be  dreamed 
of,  with  its  beautiful  blued-steel  octagon  barrel, 
its  gleaming  gold-plated  locks  and  its  polished 
stock.  Bobby  was  just  under  ten  years  old; 
but  he  could  have  told  you  all  about  that  Flobert 
Rifle  —  its  weight,  the  length  of  its  barrel,  the 
number  of  grams  of  both  powder  and  lead 
loaded  in  its  various  cartridges.  Among  his 
books  he  possessed  a  catalogue  that  described 
Flobert  Rifles,  and  also  Shotguns  and  Revol 
vers.  Bobby  intoxicated  himself  with  them. 
Twice  he  had  even  seen  his  father's  revolver; 
and  he  knew  where  it  was  kept  —  on  the  top 
shelf  of  the  closet.  The  very  closet  door  gave 
him  a  thrill. 

Reluctantly  he  tore  himself  away,  and  turned 
in  to  the  straight,  broad  stairway  that  led  to 
the  offices  above.  The  stairway,  and  the  hall 
to  which  it  mounted  were  dark  and  smelled  of  old 
coco-matting  and  stale  tobacco.  Bobby  liked 
this  smell  very  much.  He  liked,  too,  the  echo 
of  his  footsteps  as  he  marched  down  the  hall 
to  the  door  of  his  father's  offices. 

Within  were  several  long,  narrow  desks 
burdened  with  large  ledgers  and  flanked  by 


THE  BOOMS  5 

high  stools.  On  each  stool  sat  a  clerk  —  five 
of  them.  An  iron  "base  burner"  stove  occu 
pied  the  middle  of  the  room.  Its  pipe  ran  in 
suspension  here  and  there  through  the  upper 
air  until  it  plunged  unexpectedly  into  the  wall. 
A  capacious  wood-box  flanked  it.  Bobby  was 
glad  he  did  not  have  to  fill  that  wood-box  at 
a  cent  a  time. 

Against  the  walls  at  either  end  of  the  room 
and  next  the  windows  were  two  roll-top  desks 
at  which  sat  Mr.  Orde  and  his  partner.  Two 
or  three  pivoted  chairs  completed  the  furnish 
ings. 

"Hullo,  Bobby,"  called  Mr.  Orde,  who  was 
talking  earnestly  to  a  man;  "I'll  be  ready  in  a 
few  minutes." 

Nothing  pleased  Bobby  more  than  to  wander 
about  the  place  with  its  delicious  "office  smell," 
At  one  end  of  the  room,  nailed  against  the  wall, 
were  rows  and  rows  of  beautifully  polished 
models  of  the  firm's  different  tugs,  barges  and 
schooners.  Bobby  surveyed  them  with  both 
pleasure  and  regret.  It  seemed  a  shame  that 
such  delightful  boats  should  have  been  built 
only  in  half  and  nailed  immovably  to  boards. 
Against  another  wall  were  maps,  and  a  real 
deer's  head.  Everywhere  hung  framed  photo- 


6   THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

graphs  of  logging  camps  and  lumbering  opera 
tions.  From  any  one  of  the  six  long  windows  he 
could  see  the  street  below,  and  those  who  passed 
along  it.  Time  never  hung  heavy  at  the  office. 

When  Mr.  Orde  had  finished  his  business, 
he  put  on  his  hat,  and  the  big  man,  the  little 
boy  and  the  grave,  black  and  white  setter  dog- 
walked  down  the  long  dark  hall,  down  the 
steps,  and  around  the  corner  to  the  livery  stable. 

Here  they  climbed  into  one  of  the  light  and 
graceful  buggies  which  were  at  that  time  a 
source  of  such  pride  to  their  owners,  and  flashed 
out  into  the  street  behind  Mr.  Orde's  celebrated 
team. 

Duke's  gravity  at  this  juncture  deserted  him 
completely.  Life  now  meant  something  besides 
duty.  Ears  back,  mouth  wide,  body  extended, 
he  flew  away.  Faster  and  faster  he  ran,  until 
he  was  almost  out  of  sight;  then  turned  with 
a  whirl  of  shingle  dust  and  came  racing  back. 
When  he  reached  the  horses  he  leaped  vigor 
ously  from  one  side  to  the  other,  barking 
ecstatically;  then  set  off  on  a  long  even  lope 
along  the  sidewalks  and  across  the  street,  inves 
tigating  everything. 

Mr.  Orde  took  the  slender  whalebone  whip 
from  its  socket. 


THE  BOOMS  7 

" Come,  Dick!"   said  he. 

The  team  laid  back  their  pointed  delicate 
ears,  shook  their  heads  from  side  to  side,  snorted 
and  settled  into  a  swift  stride.  Bobby  leaned 
over  to  watch  the  sunlight  twinkle  on  the  wheel- 
spokes.  The  narrow  tires  sunk  slightly  in  the 
yielding  shingle  fragments.  Brittle!  Brittle! 
Brittle!  the  sound  said  to  Bobby.  Above  all 
things  he  loved  to  watch  the  gossamer- like 
wheels,  apparently  too  light  and  delicate  to 
bear  the  weight  they  must  carry,  flying  over 
the  springy  road. 

At  the  edge  of  town  they  ran  suddenly  out 
from  beneath  the  maple  trees  to  find  themselves 
at  the  banks  of  the  river.  A  long  bridge  crossed 
it.  The  team  clattered  over  the  planks  so 
fast  that  hardly  could  Bobby  get  time  to  look 
at  the  cat-tails  along  the  bayous  before  blue 
water  was  beneath  him. 

But  here  Mr.  Orde  had  to  pull  up.  The 
turn- bridge  was  open;  and  Bobby  to  his  delight 
was  allowed  to  stand  up  in  his  seat  and  watch 
the  wallowing,  churning  little  tug  and  the  three 
calm  ships  pass  through.  He  could  not  see  the 
tug  at  all  until  it  had  gone  beyond  the  bridge, 
only  its  smoke ;  but  the  masts  of  the  ship  passed 
stately  in  regular  succession. 


8   THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"  Three-masted  schooner,"  said  he. 

Then  when  the  last  mast  had  scarcely  cleared 
the  opening,  the  ponderous  turn-bridge  began 
slowly  to  close.  Its  movement  was  almost 
imperceptible,  but  mighty  beyond  Bobby's  small 
experience  to  gauge.  He  could  make  out  the 
two  bridge  tenders  walking  around  and  around, 
pushing  on  the  long  lever  that  operated  the 
mechanism.  In  a  moment  more  the  bridge 
came  into  alignment  with  a  clang.  The  team, 
tossing  their  heads  impatiently,  moved  forward. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  bridge  was  no  more 
town;  but  instead,  great  lumber  yards,  and 
along  the  river  a  string  of  mills  with  many 
smokestacks. 

The  road-bed  at  this  point  changed  abruptly 
to  sawdust,  springy  and  odorous  with  the 
sweet  new  smell  of  pine  that  now  perfumed 
all  the  air.  To  the  left  Bobby  could  see  the 
shipyards  and  the  skeleton  of  a  vessel  well  under 
way.  From  it  came  the  irregular  Block!  Block! 
Block!  of  mallets;  and  it  swarmed  with  the 
little,  black,  ant-like  figures  of  men. 

Mr.  Orde  drove  rapidly  and  silently  between 
the  shipyards  and  the  rows  and  rows  of  lumber 
piles,  arranged  in  streets  and  alleys  like  an 
untenanted  city.  Overhead  ran  tramways  on 


THE  BOOMS  9 

which  dwelt  cars  and  great  black  and  bay  horses. 
The  wild  exultant  shriek  of  the  circular  saw 
rang  out.  White  plumes  of  steam  shot  up 
against  the  intense  blue  of  the  sky.  Beyond 
the  piles  of  lumber  Bobby  could  make  out 
the  topmasts  of  more  ships,  from  which  floated 
the  pointed  hollow  " tell-tales"  affected  by  the 
lake  schooners  of  those  days  as  pennants.  At 
the  end  of  the  lumber  piles  the  road  turned 
sharp  to  the  right.  It  passed  in  turn  the  small 
building  which  Bobby  knew  to  be  another 
delightful  office,  and  the  huge  cavernous  mill 
with  its  shrieks  and  clangs,  its  blazing,  winking 
eyes  beneath  and  its  long  incline  up  which  the 
dripping,  sullen  logs  crept  in  unending  pro 
cession  to  their  final  disposition.  And  then 
came  the  " booms"  or  pens,  in  which  the  logs 
floated  like  a  patterned  brown  carpet.  Men 
with  pike  poles  were  working  there;  and  even 
at  a  distance  Bobby  caught  the  dip  and  rise, 
and  the  flash  of  white  water  as  the  rivermen 
ran  here  and  there  over  the  unstable  footing. 
Next  were  more  lumber  yards  and  more  mills, 
for  five  miles  or  so,  until  at  last  they  emerged 
into  an  open,  flat  country,  divided  by  the  old- 
fashioned  snake  fences;  dotted  with  blackened 
stumps  of  the  long- vanished  forest;  eaten  by 


10  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

sloughs  and  bayous  from  the  river.  The  saw 
dust  ceased.  Bobby  leaned  out  to  watch  with 
fascinated  interest  the  sand,  divided  by  the 
tire,  flowing  back  in  a  beautiful  curved  V  to 
cover  the  wheel-rim. 

As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  were  marshes 
grown  with  wild  rice  and  cat-tails.  Occasion 
ally  one  of  these  bayous  would  send  an  arm  in  to 
cross  the  road.  Then  Bobby  was  delighted,  for 
that  meant  a  float-bridge  through  the  cracks  of 
which  the  water  spurted  up  in  jets  at  each 
impact  of  the  horses'  hoofs.  On  either  hand 
the  bayou,  but  a  plank's  thickness  below  the 
level  of  the  float-bridge,  filmed  with  green 
weeds  and  the  bright  scum  of  water,  not  too 
stagnant,  offered  surprises  to  the  watchful  eye. 
One  could  see  many  mud-turtles  floating  lazily, 
feet  outstretched  in  poise;  and  bullfrogs  and 
little  frogs;  and,  in  the  clear  places,  trim  and 
self-sufficient  mud  hens.  From  the  reeds  at 
the  edges  flapped  small  green  herons  and 
thunder  pumpers.  And  at  last 

"Oh,  look,  papa!"  cried  Bobby  excited  and 
awed.  "  There's  a  snap'n'  turtle ! " 

Indeed,  there  he  was  in  plain  sight,  the  boys' 
monster  of  the  marshes,  fully  two  feet  in  diame 
ter,  his  rough  shell  streaming  with  lopg  green 


THE  BOOMS  11 

grasses,  his  wicked  black  eyes  staring,  his 
hooked,  powerful  jaws  set  in  a  grim  curve. 
If  once  those  jaws  clamped  —  so  said  the  boys  — 
nothing  could  loose  them  but  the  sound  of 
thunder,  not  even  cutting  off  the  head. 

Ten  of  the  twelve  miles  to  the  booms  had  al 
ready  been  passed:  The  horses  continued  to 
step  out  freely,  making  nothing  of  the  light  fab 
ric  they  drew  after  them.  Duke,  the  white  of  his 
coat  soiled  and  muddied  by  frequent  and  grateful 
plunges,  loped  alongside,  his  pink  tongue  hang 
ing  from  one  corner  of  his  mouth,  and  a  seraphic 
expression  on  his  countenance.  Occasionally 
he  rolled  his  eyes  up  at  his  masters  in  sheer 
enjoyment  of  the  expedition. 

"Papa,"  asked  Bobby  suddenly,  "what  makes 
you  have  the  booms  so  far  away?  Why  don't 
you  have  them  down  by  the  bridge  ?" 

Mr.  Orde  glanced  down  at  his  son.  The 
boy  looked  very  little  and  very  childish,  with 
his  freckled,  dull  red  cheeks,  his  dot  of  a  nose, 
and  his  wide  gray  eyes.  The  man  was  about 
to  make  some  stop-gap  reply.  He  checked 
himself. 

"It's  this  way  Bobby,"  he  explained  care 
fully.  "The  logs  are  cut  'way  up  the  river  — 
ever  so  far  —  and  then  they  float  down  the  river. 


12  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

Now,  everybody  has  logs  in  the  river  —  Mr. 
Proctor  and  Mr.  Heinzman  and  Mr.  Welton 
and  lots  of  people,  and  they're  all  mixed  up 
together.  When  they  get  down  to  the  mills 
where  they  are  to  be  sawed  up  into  boards, 
the  logs  belonging  to  the  different  owners  have 
to  be  sorted  out.  Papa's  company  is  paid  by 
all  the  others  to  do  the  floating  down  stream 
and  the  sorting  out.  The  sorting  out  is  done 
in  the  booms;  and  we  put  the  booms  up  stream 
from  the  mills  because  it  is  easier  to  float  the 
logs,  after  they  have  been  sorted,  down  the 
stream  than  to  haul  them  back  up  the  stream." 

"  What  do  you  have  them  so  far  up  the  stream 
for?"  asked  Bobby. 

"  Because  there's  more  room  —  the  river 
widens  out  there." 

Bobby  said  nothing  for  some  time,  and 
Mr.  Orde  confessed  within  himself  a  strong 
doubt  as  to  whether  or  not  the  explanation  had 
been  understood. 

"Papa,"  demanded  Bobby,  "I  don't  see 
how  you  tell  your  logs  from  Mr.  Proctor's  or 
Mr.  Heinzman's  or  any  of  the  rest  of  them." 

Mr.  Orde  turned,  extending  his  hand  heartily 
to  his  astonished  son. 

"You're  all  right,  Bobby!"   said  he.     "Why, 


THE  BOOMS  13 

you  see,  each  log  is  stamped  on  the  end  with 
a  mark.  Mr.  Proctor's  mark  is  one  thing; 
and  Mr.  Heinzman's  is  another;  and  all  the 
rest  have  different  ones." 

"I  see,"  said  Bobby. 

The  road  now  led  them  through  a  small  grove 
of  willows.  Emerging  thence  they  found  them 
selves  in  full  sight  of  the  booms. 

For  fifty  feet  Bobby  allowed  his  eyes  to  run 
over  a  scene  already  familiar  and  always  of 
the  greatest  attraction  to  him.  Then  came 
what  he  called,  after  his  Malory,  the  Stumps 
Perilous.  Between  them  there  was  but  just 
room  to  drive  —  in  fact  the  delicate  points  of 
the  whiffle  tree  scratched  the  polished  sur 
faces  of  them  on  either  hand.  Bobby  loved  to 
imagine  them  as  the  mighty  guardians  of  the 
land  beyond,  and  he  always  held  his  breath 
until  they  had  been  passed  in  safety. 

Shying  gently  toward  each  other,  ears  pricked 
toward  the  two  obstacles,  the  horses  shot  through 
with  pace  undiminished  and  drew  up  proudly 
before  the  smallest  of  the  group  of  buildings. 
Thence  emerged  a  tall,  spare,  keen-eyed  man 
in  slouch  hat,  flannel  shirt,  shortened  trousers 
and  spiked  boots. 

"Hullo,  Jim,"  said  Mr.  Orde. 


14  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"  Hullo,  Jack,"  said  the  other. 

;*  Where's  your  chore  boy  to  take  the  horses  ?" 

"I'll    rustle   him,"    replied   the    River   Boss. 

Bobby  drew  a  deep  breath  of  pleasure,  and 
looked  about  him. 

From  the  land's  edge  extended  a  wide  sur 
face  of  logs.  Near  at  hand  little  streaks  of 
water  lay  between  some  of  them,  but  at  a  short 
distance  the  prospect  was  brown  and  uniform, 
until  far  away  a  narrow  flash  of  blue  marked 
the  open  river.  Here  and  there  ran  the  confines 
of  the  various  booms  included  in  the  monster 
main  boom.  These  confines  consisted  of  long 
heavy  timbers  floating  on  the  water,  and  joined 
end  to  end  by  means  of  strong  links.  They 
were  generally  laid  in  pairs,  and  hewn  on  top, 
so  that  they  constituted  a  network  of  floating 
sidewalks  threading  the  expanse  of  saw-logs. 
At  intervals  they  were  anchored  to  bunches 
of  piles  driven  deep,  and  bound  at  the  top. 
An  unbroken  palisade  of  piles  constituted  the 
outer  boundaries  of  the  main  boom.  At  the 
upper  end  of  them  perched  a  little  house  whence 
was  operated  the  mechanism  of  the  heavy  swing 
boom,  capable  of  closing  entirely  the  river 
channel.  Thus  the  logs,  floating  or  driven 
down  the  river,  encountered  this  obstruction; 


THE   BOOMS  15 

were  shunted  into  the  main  booms,  where  they 
were  distributed  severally  into  the  various 
pocket  booms;  and  later  were  released  at  the 
lower  end,  one  lot  at  a  time,  to  the  river  again. 
Thence  they  were  appropriated  by  the  mill 
to  which  they  belonged. 

Bobby  did  not  as  yet  understand  the  mech 
anism  of  all  this.  He  saw  merely  the  brown 
logs,  and  the  distant  blue  water,  and  the  hut 
wherein  he  knew  dwelt  machinery  and  a  good- 
natured,  short,  dark  man  with  a  short,  dark 
pipe,  and  the  criss-cross  floating  sidewalks,  and 
the  men  with  long  pike  poles  and  shorter  peavies 
moving  here  and  there  about  their  work.  And 
he  liked  it. 

But  now  the  chore  boy  appeared  to  take 
charge  of  the  horses.  Mr.  Orde  lifted  Bobby 
down,  and  immediately  walked  away  with  the 
River  Boss,  leaving  with  Bobby  the  parting 
injunction  not  to  go  out  on  the  booms. 

Bobby,  left  to  himself,  climbed  laboriously, 
one  steep  step  at  a  time,  to  the  elevation  of  the 
roofless  porch  before  the  mess  house.  The 
floor  he  examined,  as  always,  with  the  greatest 
interest.  The  sharp  caulks  of  the  rivermen's 
shoes  had  long  since  picked  away  the  surface,, 
leaving  it  pockmarked  and  uneven.  Only  the 


16  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

knots  had  resisted;  and  each  of  these  now  con 
stituted  a  little  hill  above  the  surrounding  plains. 
Bobby  always  wished  that  either  his  tin  soldiers 
could  be  here  or  this  well-ordered  porch  could 
be  at  home. 

The  sun  proving  hot,  he  peeped  within  the 
cook-house.  There  long  tables  flanked  each 
by  two  benches  of  equal  extent,  stretched  down 
the  dimness.  They  were  covered  with  dark 
oil-cloth,  and  at  intervals  on  them  arose  irregu 
lar  humps  of  cheese  cloth.  Beneath  the  cheese 
cloth,  which  Bobby  had  seen  lifted,  were  recep 
tacles  containing  the  staples  and  condiments, 
such  as  stewed  fruit,  sugar,  salt,  pepper,  catsup, 
molasses  and  the  like.  Innumerable  tin  plates 
and  cups  laid  upside  down  were  guarded  by 
iron  cutlery.  It  was  very  dark  and  still,  and 
the  flies  buzzed. 

Beyond,  Bobby  could  hear  the  cook  and  his 
helpers,  called  cookees.  He  decided  to  visit 
them;  but  he  knew  better  than  to  pass  through 
the  dining  room.  Until  the  bell  rang,  that  was 
sacred  from  the  boss  himself. 

Therefore  he  descended  from  the  porch,  one 
step  at  a  time,  and  climbed  around  to  the 
kitchen.  Here  he  found  preparations  for  dinner 
well  under  way. 


THE  BOOMS  17 

"'Llo,  Bobby,"  greeted  the  cook,  a  tall  white- 
moustached  lean  man  with  bushy  eyebrows. 
The  cookees  grinned,  and  one  of  them  offered 
him  a  cooky  as  big  as  a  pie-plate.  Bobby 
accepted  the  offering,  and  seated  himself  on 
a  cracker  box. 

Food  was  being  prepared  in  quantities  to 
stagger  the  imagination  of  one  used  only  to 
private  kitchens.  Prunes  stewed  away  in  gal 
vanized  iron  buckets;  meat  boiled  in  wash- 
boilers;  coffee  was  made  in  fifty-pound  lard 
tins;  pies  were  baking  in  ranks  of  ten;  mashed 
potatoes  were  handled  by  the  shovelful;  a  barrel 
of  flour  was  used  every  two  and  a  half  days 
in  this  camp  of  hungry  hard-working  men. 
It  took  a  good  man  to  plan  and  organize;  and 
a  good  man  Corrigan  was.  His  meals  were 
never  late,  never  scant,  and  never  wasteful. 
He  had  the  record  for  all  the  camps  on  the  river 
of  thirty-five  cents  a  day  per  man  —  and  the 
men  satisfied.  Consequently,  in  his  own 
domain  he  was  autocrat.  The  dining  room 
was  sacred,  the  kitchen  was  sacred,  meal  hours 
were  sacred.  Each  man  was  fed  at  half-past 
five,  at  twelve,  and  at  six.  No  man  could  get 
a  bite  even  of  dry  bread  between  those  hours, 
save  occasionally  a  teamster  in  the  line  of  duty. 


18  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

Bobby  himself  had  once  seen  Corrigan  chase 
a  would-be  forager  out  at  the  point  of  a  carving 
knife.  As  for  Bobby,  he  was  an  exception, 
and  a  favourite. 

The  place  was  enthralling,  with  its  two  stoves, 
each  as  big  as  the  dining  room  table  at  home, 
its  shelves  and  barrels  of  supplies,  its  rows  of 
pies  and  loaves  of  bread,  and  all  the  crackle 
and  bustle  and  aroma  of  its  preparations. 
Time  passed  on  wings.  At  length  Corrigan 
glanced  up  at  the  square  wooden  clock  and 
uttered  some  command  to  his  two  subordinates. 
The  latter  immediately  began  to  dish  into  large 
receptacles  of  tin  the  hot  food  from  the  stove  — 
boiled  meat,  mashed  potatoes,  pork  and  beans, 
boiled  corn.  These  they  placed  at  regular 
intervals  down  the  long  tables  of  the  dining 
room.  Bobby  descended  from  his  cracker  box 
to  watch  them.  Between  the  groups  of  hot 
dishes  they  distributed  many  plates  of  pie,  of 
bread  and  of  cake.  Finally  the  two-gallon  pots 
of  tea  and  coffee,  one  for  each  end  of  each  table, 
were  brought  in.  The  window  coverings  were 
drawn  back.  Corrigan  appeared  for  final 
inspection. 

"Want  to  ring  the  bell,  Bobby?"  he  asked. 

They  proceeded  together  to  the  front  of  the 


THE  BOOMS  19 

house  where  hung  the  bell  cord.  Bobby  seized 
this  and  pulled  as  hard  as  he  was  able.  But 
his  weight  could  not  bring  the  heavy  bell  over. 
Corrigan,  smiling  grimly  under  his  white  mous 
tache,  gave  him  advice. 

"Pull  on  her,  Bobby,  hang  yer  feet  off'n  the 
ground.  Now  let  up  entire!  Now  pull  again! 
Now  let  up!  That's  the  bye!  You'll  get  her 
goin'  yit  widout  the  help  of  any  man." 

Sure  enough  the  weight  of  the  bell  did  give 
slightly  under  Bobby's  frantic,  though  now 
rythmic,  efforts.  Nevertheless  Corrigan  took 
opportunity  to  reach  out  surreptitiously  above 
the  little  boy's  head  to  add  a  few  pounds  to  the 
downward  pull.  At  last  the  clapper  reached 
the  side. 

Cling!     it  broke  the  stillness. 

"There  you  got  her  goin',  Bobby!"  cried 
Corrigan,  "Now  all  you  got  to  do  is  to  keep  at 
her.  Now  pull!  Now  let  go.  See  how  much 
easier  she  goes?" 

The  bell,  started  in  its  orbit,  was  now  easy 
enough  to  manipulate.  Bobby  was  delighted 
at  the  noise  he  was  producing,  and  still  more 
delighted  at  its  results.  For  from  the  maze 
of  his  toil  he  could  see  men  coming  —  men 
from  the  logs  near  at  hand,  men  from  the  booms 


20  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

far  away  —  all  coming  to  the  bell,  concentrating 
at  a  common  centre.  By  now  the  bell  was 
turning  entirely  over.  Bobby  was  becoming 
enthusiastic.  He  tugged  and  tugged.  Some 
times  when  he  did  not  let  go  the  rope  in  time, 
he  was  lifted  slightly  off  his  feet.  The  sun  was 
hot,  but  he  had  no  thought  of  quitting.  His 
hat  fell  off  backward,  his  towsled  hair  wetted 
at  the  edges,  clung  to  his  forehead,  his  dull  red 
cheeks  grew  redder  behind  their  freckles,  his 
eyes  fairly  closed  in  an  ecstasy  of  enjoyment. 
He  did  not  hear  Corrigan  laughing,  nor  the 
gleeful  shout*  of  the  men  as  they  leaped  ashore 
and  with  dripping  boots  advanced  to  the 
expected  meal.  All  he  knew  was  that  wonderful 
dang!  clang!  clang!  over  him;  the  only  thought 
in  his  little  head  was  that  he,  he,  Bobby  Orde, 
was  making  all  this  noise  himself! 

How  long  he  would  have  continued  before 
giving  out  entirely  it  would  be  hard  to  say,  but 
at  this  moment  Mr.  Orde  and  Jim  Denning 
came  around  the  corner  with  some  haste.  Both 
looked  worried  and  a  little  angry  until  they 
caught  sight  of  the  small  bell-ringer.  Then 
they  too  laughed  with  the  men. 

But  Mr.  Orde  swooped  down  on  his  son  and 
tossed  him  on  his  shoulder. 


THE  BOOMS  21 

" That'll  do,"  he  advised,  "we're  all  here. 
Lord,  Corrigan!  I  thought  you  were  afire  at 
least." 

'You  got  to  show  us  up  a  reg'lar  Christmas 
dinner  to  match  that,"  said  one  of  the  men  to 
Corrigan. 

After  the  meal,  which  Bobby  enjoyed 
thoroughly,  because  it  was  so  different  from 
what  he  had  at  home,  he  had  a  request  to  proffer. 

"Papa,"  he  demanded,  "I  want  to  go  out 
on  the  booms." 

"Haven't  time  to-day,  Bobby,"  replied  Mr. 
Orde.  "You  just  play  around." 

But  Jim  Denning  would  not  have  this. 

"Can't  start  'em  in  too  early,  Jack,"  said  he. 
"I  bet  you'd  been  fished  out  from  running  logs 
before  you  were  half  his  age." 

Mr.  Orde  laughed. 

"Right  you  are,  Jim,  but  we  were  raised 
different  in  those  days." 

"Well,"  said  Denning,  "work's  slack.  I'll 
let  one  of  the  men  take  him." 

At  the  moment  a  youth  of  not  more  than 
fifteen  years  of  age  was  passing  from  the  cool: 
house  to  the  booms.  He  had  the  slenderness  of 
his  years,  but  was  toughly  knit,  and  already 
possessed  in  eye  and  mouth  the  steady  unwaver- 


22  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

ing  determination  that  the  river  life  develops. 
In  all  details  of  equipment  he  was  a  riverman 
complete:  the  narrow-brimmed  black  felt  hat, 
pushed  back  from  a  tangle  of  curls;  the  flannel 
shirt  crossed  by  the  broad  bands  of  the  suspen 
ders;  the  kersey  trousers  "stagged"  off  a  little 
below  the  knee;  the  heavy  knit  socks;  and  the 
strong  shoes  armed  with  thin  half-inch,  needle- 
sharp  caulks. 

"Jimmy  Powers!"  called  the  River  Boss  after 
this  boy,  " Come  here!" 

The  youth  approached,  grinning  cheerfully. 

"I  want  you  to  take  Bobby  out  on  the  booms," 
commanded  Denning,  "and  be  careful  he  don't 
fall  in." 

The  older  men  moved  away.  Bobby  and 
Jimmy  Powers  looked  a  little  bashfully  at  each 
other,  and  then  turned  to  where  the  first  hewn 
logs  gave  access  to  the  booms. 

"Ever  been  out  on  'em  afore?"  asked  Jimmy 
Powers. 

'Yes"  replied  Bobby;  then  after  a  pause, 
"I  been  out  to  the  swing  with  Papa." 

They  walked  out  on  the  floating  booms, 
which  tipped  and  dipped  ever  so  slightly  under 
their  weight.  Bobby  caught  himself  with  a 
little  stagger,  although  his  footing  was  a  good 


THE   BOOMS  23 

three  feet  in  width.  On  either  side  of  him 
nuzzled  the  great  logs,  like  patient  beasts,  and 
between  them  were  narrow  strips  of  water,  the 
colour  of  steel  that  has  just  cooled. 

"How  deep  is  it  here?"  asked  Bobby. 
"Bout  six  feet,"  replied  Jimmy  Powers. 

They  passed  an  intersection,  and  came  to 
an  empty  enclosure  over  which  the  water 
stretched  like  a  blue  sheet.  Bobby  looked  back. 
Already  the  shore  seemed  far  away.  Through 
the  interstices  between  the  piles  the  wavelets 
went  lap,  lap,  slap,  lap!  Beyond  were  men 
working  the  reluctant  logs  down  toward  the 
lower  end  of  the  booms.  Some  jabbed  the 
pike  poles  in  and  then  walked  forward  along 
the  boom  logs.  Others  ran  quickly  over  the 
logs  themselves  until  they  had  gained  timbers 
large  enough  to  sustain  their  weight,  whence 
they  were  able  to  work  with  greater  advantage. 
The  supporting  log  rolled  and  dipped  under 
the  burden  of  the  man  pushing  mightily  against 
his  implement;  but  always  the  riverman  trod  it, 
first  one  way,  then  the  other,  in  entire  uncon 
sciousness  of  the  fact  that  he  was  doing  so.  The 
dark  flanks  of  the  log  heaved  dripping  from  the 
river,  and  rolled  silently  back  again,  picked  by 
the  long  sharp  caulks  of  the  riverman' s  boots. 


24  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Can  you  walk  on  the  logs?"  asked  Bobby 
of  his  companion. 

"Sure,"  laughed  Jimmy  Powers. 

"Lets  see  you,"  insisted  Bobby. 

Jimmy  Powers  leaped  lightly  from  the  boom 
to  the  nearest  log.  It  was  a  small  one,  and  at 
once  dipped  below  the  surface.  If  the  boy  had 
attempted  to  stand  on  it  even  a  second  he  would 
have  fallen  in.  But  all  Jimmy  Powers  needed 
was  a  foothold  from  which  to  spring.  Hardly 
had  the  little  timber  dipped  before  he  had 
jumped  to  the  next  and  the  next  after.  Behind 
him  the  logs,  bobbing  up  and  down,  churned 
the  water  white.  Jimmy  moved  rapidly  across 
the  enclosure  on  an  irregular  zigzag.  The 
smaller  logs  he  passed  over  as  quickly  as  possible; 
on  the  larger  he  paused  appreciably.  Bobby  was 
interested  to  see  how  he  left  behind  him  a  wake 
of  motion  on  what  had  possessed  the  appearance 
of  rigid  immobility.  The  little  logs  bobbed 
furiously;  the  larger  bowed  in  more  stately 
fashion  and  rolled  slowly  in  dignified  protest. 
In  a  moment  Jimmy  was  back  again,  grinning 
at  Bobby's  admiration. 

"Look  here,"  said  he. 

He  took  his  station  sideways  on  a  log  of  about 
twenty  inches  diameter,  and  began  to  roll  it 


THE  BOOMS  25 

beneath  him  by  walking  rapidly  forward.  As 
the  timber  gained  its  momentum,  the  boy 
increased  his  pace,  until  finally  his  feet  were 
fairly  twinkling  beneath  him,  and  the  side  of 
the  log  rising  from  the  river  was  a  blur  of  white 
water.  Then  suddenly  with  two  quick  strong 
stamps  of  his  caulked  feet  the  young  riverman 
brought  the  whirling  timber  to  a  standstill. 

"That's  birling  a  log,"  said  he  to  Bobby. 

They  walked  out  on  the  main  boom  still 
farther.  The  smaller  partitions  between  the 
various  enclosures  were  often  nothing  but  sin 
gle  round  poles  chained  together  at  their  ends. 
On  these  Bobby  was  not  allowed  to  venture. 

"How  deep  is  it  here  ? "  he  asked  again. 

"'Bout  thirty  feet,"  replied  Jimmy  Powers. 

Bobby  for  an  instant  felt  a  little  dizzy,  as 
though  he  were  on  a  high  building.  All  this 
fabric  on  which  he  moved  suddenly  seemed  to 
him  unreal,  like  a  vast  cobweb  in  suspension 
through  a  void.  It  was  a  brief  sensation,  and 
little  defined  in  his  childish  mind,  so  it  soon 
passed,  but  it  constituted  while  it  lasted  a 
definite  subjective  experience  which  Bobby 
would  always  remember.  As  he  looked  back, 
the  buildings  of  the  river  camp,  lying  low  among 
the  trees,  had  receded  to  a  great  distance; 


26  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

apparently  at  another  horizon  was  the  dark 
row  of  piling  that  marked  the  outer  confines 
of  the  booms;  up  and  down  stream,  as  far  as 
he  could  see,  were  the  logs.  Bobby  suddenly 
felt  very  much  alone,  with  the  blue  sky  above 
him,  and  the  deep  black  water  beneath,  and 
about  him  nothing  but  the  quiet  sullen  monsters 
herded  from  the  wilderness.  He  gripped  very 
tightly  Jimmy  Powers's  hand  as  they  walked 
along. 

But  shortly  they  turned  to  the  left;  and  after 
a  brief  walk,  mounted  the  rickety  steps  to  the 
floor  of  the  hut  where  dwelt  old  man  North,  and 
the  winch  for  operating  the  swinging  boom.  Old 
man  North  was  short,  dark,  heavy  and  bearded; 
he  smoked  perpetually  a  small  black  clay  pipe 
which  he  always  held  upside  down  in  his  mouth. 
His  conversation  was  not  extensive;  but  his 
black  eyes  twinkled  at  Bobby,  so  the  little  boy 
was  not  afraid  of  him.  When  he  saw  the  two 
approaching,  he  reached  over  in  the  corner  and 
handed  out  a  hickory  pole  peeled  to  a  beautiful 
white. 

"The  wums  is  yonder,"  said  he. 

Bobby  put  a  fat  worm  on  his  hook  and  sat 
down  in  the  opposite  doorway  were  he  could 
dangle  his  feet  directly  over  the  river.  Where 


THE  BOOMS  27 

the  shadow  of  the  cabin  fell,  he  could  see  far 
down  in  the  water,  which  there  became  a  trans 
parent  fair  green.  Close  to  the  piles,  on  the 
tops  of  which  the  hut  was  built,  were  various 
fish.  Jimmy  leaned  over. 

"Mostly  suckers,"  he  advised.  "Yan's  a 
perch,  try  him." 

Bobby  cautiously  lowered  his  baited  hook 
until  it  dangled  before  the  perch's  nose.  The 
latter  paid  absolutely  no  attention  to  it.  Bobby 
jiggled  it  up  and  down.  No  results.  At  last 
he  fairly  plumped  the  worm  on  top  of  the  fish's 
nose.  The  perch,  with  an  air  of  annoyance, 
spread  his  gills  and,  with  the  least  perceptible 
movement  of  his  tail,  sank  slowly  until  he  faded 
from  sight. 

"Better  let  down  your  hook  and  fish  near 
bottom,"  suggested  Jimmy  Powers. 

Bobby  did  so.  The  peace  of  warm  afternoon 
settled  upon  him.  He  dangled  his  chubby 
legs,  and  tried  to  spit  as  scientifically  as  he  could, 
and  watched  the  waving  green  current  slip 
silently  beneath  his  feet.  Beside  him  sat  Jimmy 
Powers.  The  fragrant  strong  tobacco  smoke 
from  North's  pipe  passed  them  in  wisps. 

"I'd  like  to  walk  on  logs,"  proffered  Bobby  at 
last,  "It  looks  like  lots  of  fun." 


28  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Oh,  that's  nothin',"  said  Jimmy  Powers, 
"You  ought  to  be  on  drive." 

The  boys  fell  into  conversation.  Jimmy 
told  of  the  drive,  and  the  log-running.  Bobby 
listened  with  the  envy  of  one  whose  imagination 
cannot  conceive  of  himself  permitted  in  such 
affairs.  He  was  entirely  absorbed.  And  then 
all  at  once  the  peace  was  shattered. 

"Yank  him,  Bobby,  yank  him!"  yelled 
Jimmy. 

"Christmas!  he's  a  whale!"  said  old  North. 

For,  without  wavering,  the  tip  of  the  hickory 
pole  had  been  ruthlessly  jerked  below  the  water's 
surface,  and  the  butt  nearly  pulled  from  Bobby's 
hands. 

Bobby  knew  the  proper  thing  to  do.  In 
such  cases  you  heaved  strongly.  The  fish 
flew  from  the  water,  described  an  arc  over  your 
head,  and  lit  somewhere  behind  you.  He 
tried  to  accomplish  this,  but  his  utmost  strength 
could  but  just  lift  the  wriggling,  jerking  end  of 
the  pole  from  the  water. 

"Give  her  to  me!"  cried  Jimmy  Powers. 

"Le5  me  'lone,"  grunted  Bobby. 

He  planted  the  butt  of  the  pole  in  the  pit  of 
his  stomach,  and  lifted  as  hard  as  ever  he  could 
with  both  hands.  His  face  grew  red,  his  cars 


THE  BOOMS  29 

rang,  but,  after  a  first  immovable  resistance, 
to  his  great  joy  the  tip  of  the  bending,  wriggling 
pole  began  to  give.  Slowly,  little  by  little,  he 
pulled  up  the  fish,  until  he  could  make  out  the 
flash  of  its  body  darting  to  and  fro  far  down 
in  the  depths. 

"Black  bass!"  murmured  Jimmy  Powers 
breathlessly. 

And  then  just  as  his  size  and  beauty  were 
becoming  clearly  visible,  the  line  came  up  with 
a  sickening  ease.  The  interested  spectators 
caught  a  glimpse  of  white  as  the  fish  turned. 

Bobby  let  out  a  howl  of  disappointment. 

"Oh  gee,  that's  hard  luck!"  cried  Jimmy 
Powers, 

"Bet  he  weighed  four  pounds,"  proffered 
North  curtly. 

But  at  this  instant  a  faint  clear  whistle 
sounded  from  about  the  wooded  bend  of  the 
river  above. 

"Boat  coming,"  said  North,  "Clear  out  of 
the  way,  boys." 

He  began  at  once  to  operate  the  winch  which 
drew  the  long  slanting  swing  boom  out  of  the 
channel,  for  the  River  was  navigable  water, 
and  must  not  be  obstructed.  In  a  moment 
appeared  the  Lucy  Belle,  a  shallow-draught, 


30  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

flimsy-looking  double  decker,  with  two  slim 
smokestacks  side  by  side  connected  by  a  band 
of  fancy  grill-work,  a  walking  beam,  two  huge 
paddle  boxes  and  much  white  paint.  She 
sheered  sidewise  with  the  current  around  the 
bend,  and  headed  down  upon  them  accompanied 
by  a  vast  beating  of  paddle  wheels.  Bobby 
could  soon  make  out  atop  the  walking-beam,  the 
swaying  iron  Indian  with  bent  bow,  and  the 
piles  of  slabs  which  constituted  the  Lucy  Belle's 
fuel.  Almost  immediately  she  was  passing, 
within  ten  feet  or  so  of  the  hut.  The  water 
boiled  and  eddied  among  the  piles,  rushing  in 
and  sucking  back.  A  fat,  ruddy-faced  man  in 
official  cap  and  citizen's  clothes  leaned  over  the 
rail. 

"  Well,  you  made  her  to-day,"  shouted  North. 

"Bet  ye,"  called  the  man  with  a  grin.  "Only 
aground  once." 

The  Lucy  Belle  swept  away  with  an  air  of 
pride.  She  made  the  trip  to  and  from  Redding, 
forty  miles  up  the  River,  twice  a  week.  Some 
times  she  came  through  in  a  day.  Oftener  she 
ran  aground. 

Now  Bobby  reverted  to  his  original  idea. 

"I'd  like  to  walk  on  the  logs,"  said  he. 

"Well,  come  on,  then,"  said  Jimmy  Powers. 


THE  BOOMS  31 

They  retraced  their  steps  along  the  booms 
until  near  the  shore. 

"You  don't  want  to  try  her  where  she's  deep," 
explained  Jimmy  Powers,  "'Cause  then  if  you 
should  fall  in,  the  logs  would  close  right  together 
over  your  head,  and  then  where'd  you  be  ?" 

Bobby  shuddered  at  this  idea,  which  in  the 
event  continued  to  haunt  him  for  some  days. 

"There's  a  big  one,"  said  Jimmy  Powers. 
"Try  her." 

Bobby  stepped  out  on  a  big  solid-looking  log, 
which  immediately  proved  to  be  not  solid  at  all. 
It  dipped  one  way,  Bobby  tried  to  tread  the  other. 
The  log  promptly  followed  his  suggestion  —  too 
promptly.  Bobby  soon  found  himself  about 
two  moves  behind  in  this  strange  new  game. 
He  lost  his  balance,  and  the  first  thing  he  knew, 
he  found  himself  waist  deep  in  the  water. 

Jimmy  Powers  laughed  heartily;  but  to  Bobby 
this  was  no  laughing  matter.  The  penalties 
attached  both  by  nature  and  his  mother  were 
dire  in  the  extreme.  He  foresaw  sickness  and 
spankings,  both  of  which  had  been  promised 
him  in  the  event  of  wet  feet  merely,  and  here 
he  was  dripping  from  the  waist  down!  In  any 
other  surroundings  or  with  any  other  company 
he  would  have  wept  bitterly.  Even  in  the 


32  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

presence  of  Jimmy  Powers  his  lower  lip  quivered; 
and  his  soul  filled  to  the  very  throat  with  dismay. 
Jimmy  Powers  could  not  understand  his  very 
evident  perturbation.  If  took  a  great  deal  of 
explanation  on  Bobby's  part;  but  finally  there 
was  conveyed  to  the  young  riverman's  under 
standing  a  slight  notion  of  the  situation.  To 
the  child  the  day  seemed  lost;  but  Jimmy  Powers 
was  more  resourceful.  He  surveyed  his  charge 
thoughtfully. 

"You're  all  right,  kid,"  he  announced  at  last. 
"  Your  collar's  all  right,  and  your  hair  ain't  wet. 
The  rest'll  dry  out  so  nobody  will  know  the  diff." 

Bobby  brightened. 

"Won't  I  catch  cold?"  he  asked  doubtfully. 

"This  kind  of  weather?  Naw!"  said  Jimmy 
Powers  with  scorn.  'You  rustle  in  to  the  cook 
shanty  and  get  Corrigan  to  let  you  sit  by  the 
stove." 

Bobby  said  farewell  to  his  guide,  and  presented 
himself  to  the  cook. 

"I  fell  in,"  he  announced,  "can  I  sit  by  the 
stove?" 

"Sure"  said  Corrigan  hospitably.  "Take  a 
craeker-box  and  go  over  by  the  wood  box. 
Tryin'  to  ride  a  log?" 

"Yes  "confessed  Bobby. 


THE  BOOMS  S3 

"Well,  you  want  to  look  out  for  them," 
warned  Corrigan  a  little  vaguely.  He  produced 
the  customary  cookey.  Bobby  sat  and  steamed, 
and  munched  and  told  about  the  fish  he  had 
almost  caught.  He  liked  Corrigan  because  the 
latter  talked  to  him  sensibly,  without  ill-timed 
facetiousness,  as  to  an  equal.  In  a  moment 
Duke  thrust  his  muzzle  in  the  door.  Bobby 
looked  hastily  down.  His  clothes  were  quite 
dry. 

"Don't  tell  Papa,"  be  begged. 

For  answer  Corrigan  portentously  winked 
one  eye,  and  went  on  peeling  potatoes.  After 
a  moment  Mr.  Orde  appeared  at  the  door. 

"Bobby here? "he inquired.  "Oh yes!  Come 
on,  youngster." 

Bobby  showed  himself  with  considerable 
trepidation;  but  apparently  Mr.  Orde  noticed 
nothing  wrong,  and  the  little  boy's  spirits  rose. 
The  team  was  waiting,  and  they  mounted  the 
buggy  at  once.  Duke  fell  in  behind  them 
soberly.  For  him  the  freshness  of  the  expedi 
tion  was  over.  It  was  now  merely  a  case  of 
get  back  home. 

"Have  a  good  time?"  asked  Mr.  Orde. 

Bobby  talked  busily  all  the  way  in.  He  told 
principally  of  the  fish,  although  the  Lucy  Belle 


34  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

and  Jimmy  Powers  came  in  for  a  share.  From 
time  to  time  Mr.  Orde  said,  "That's  good,"  or, 
"Yes,"  which  sufficed  Bobby.  Probably,  how 
ever,  the  man  heard  little  of  his  son's  talk.  His 
mind  was  very  busy  with  the  elements  of  the 
game  he  was  playing,  sorting  and  arranging  them, 
figuring  how  to  earn  and  borrow  the  money 
necessary  to  permit  his  taking  advantage  of  a 
chance  he  thought  he  saw  in  the  western  timber 
lands.  He  heard  little,  to  be  sure,  and  yet  he 
was  in  reality  wholly  occupied  with  the  child 
prattling  away  at  his  side  —  with  his  fortune, 
and  his  business  prospects  of  thirty  years 
hence. 

Under  the  maples  the  sun  slanted  low  and 
golden  and  mote-laden.  Bobby  suddenly  felt 
a  little  tired,  and  more  than  a  little  hungry. 
He  descended  from  the  buggy  with  alacrity. 
The  wetting  was  forgotten  in  the  home-coming. 
Only  when  washing  for  dinner  did  he  remember 
with  certain  self -felicitation  that  even  his  mother 
had  noticed  nothing.  For  the  first  time  it 
occurred  to  him  that  his  parents  were  not 
omniscient :  —  that  was  the  evil  of  the  afternoon's 
experiences.  For  the  first  time  also  it  occurred 
to  him  that  he  possessed  the  ability  to  meet  an 
emergency  without  their  aid: — that  was  the 


THE   BOOMS  35 

good  of  it.  And  the  good  far  outweighed  the 
evil. 

That  night  Bobby  called  upon  the  Lord  to 
bless  those  dear  to  him,  as  usual;  but  he  offered 
on  his  own  account  an  addendum. 

"And  make  Bobby  grow  up  a  big  man  like 
Jimmy  Powers." 


II 

THE    PICNIC 

One  Saturday,  shortly  after,  everybody  was 
early  afoot  in  preparation  for  a  picnic  up  the 
River.  Bobby  had  on  clean  starched  brown 
linen  things,  and  his  hair  was  parted  on  one 
side  and  very  smoothly  brushed  across  his 
forehead.  His  mother  had  been  somewhat 
inclined  to  the  dark  green  velvet  suit  with  the 
lace  collar,  but  to  his  great  relief  his  father  had 
intervened. 

"Give  the  boy  a  chance,"  said  he,  "He'll 
want  to  eat  peaches  and  go  down  in  the  engine 
room,  and  perhaps  catch  sunfish." 

At  the  wharf,  built  along  the  front  of  the 
river  at  the  foot  of  Main  Street,  they  could  see, 
when  they  turned  the  corner  at  the  engine- 
house,  the  single  sturdy  stack  of  the  Robert  O 
pouring  forth  a  cloud  of  gray  smoke,  while  in 
front  of  it  fluttered  the  white  of  the  women's 
dresses. 

"We're   going  to   be   late,"   danced   Bobby. 

36 


THE  PICNIC  37 

"I  guess  they'll  wait  for  us,"  replied  Mr. 
Orde  easily.  "They  know  what's  in  this," 
he  smiled,  patting  the  hamper  he  was  carrying. 

At  the  wharf  they  were  greeted  by  a  chorus 
of  exclamations  from  a  large  group  of  people. 
Mr.    and   Mrs.   Taylor   were   there,   the   latter 
sweet  and  dainty  in  one  of  the  very  latest  cre 
ations   in   muslin;    Mr.   and  Mrs.  Fuller  with 
Tad  and  Clifford;    young  Mr.  Carlin  from  the 
bank;   Mr.  and  Mrs.  Proctor,  and  their  young- 
lady  daughter  wearing  a  marvellous  "waterfall"; 
Angus    McMullen,    alone,   his   father   detained 
professionally;     Mrs.     Cathcart    and    Georgie; 
young  Bradford  carrying  his  banjo,  his  wonder 
ful  raiment  and  his  air  of  vast  leisure;   Welton, 
the  lumberman,  red-faced,  jolly,  popular  and 
ungrammatical.     The     women     guarded     bas 
kets.     All  greeted      the      Ordes    with    various 
degrees  of  hilarity.     When  the  noise  had  died 
down,  a  massive  and  impressive  lady,  hereto 
fore  unnamed,   stepped  forward.     She  held   a 
jewelled    arm    straight    before    her,    the    hand 
drooping   slightly,   so   that,    although   she   was 
in  reality  of  but  medium  stature,  she  gave  the 
impression    of    condescending    from    a    height. 
"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Owen,"  greeted  Mrs. 
Orde,  shaking  the  proffered  hand. 


38  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Good  morning,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs. 
Owen  regally.  She  swept  slowly  sideways  to 
reveal  a  woman  and  a  little  girl  of  seven  or 
eight  years,  immediately  behind  her.  "Allow 
me  to  present  to  you  my  very  dear  friend,  Mrs. 
Carleton.  Mrs.  Carleton  is  from  the  city, 
staying  at  the  Ottawa  for  a  few  weeks,  and  I 
knew  you  would  like  the  chance  to  show  her 
some  of  our  beautiful  River."  Mrs.  Carleton, 
a  pretty,  modish  woman,  with  the  ease  of  city 
manner,  bowed  quietly  and  murmured  her 
pleasure.  The  little  girl  looked  half  bashfully 
through  a  wealth  of  natural  curls  at  the  grown 
ups  to  whom  she  was  presented  in  the  off-hand 
method  one  employs  with  children.  She  was 
altogether  a  charming  little  girl.  Her  hair  was 
of  the  colour  of  ripe  wheat;  her  skin  was  of 
the  light  smooth  brown  peculiar  to  an  exceptional 
blonde  complexion  tanned  in  the  sun ;  her  mouth 
was  full  and  whimsical;  and  her  eyes,  strangely 
enough  in  one  otherwise  so  light,  were  so  black 
as  to  resemble  spots.  Her  dress  was  very 
simple,  very  starched,  very  white.  A  big 
leghorn  hat  with  red  roses  half  hid  her  head. 
She  was  shy,  that  was  easily  to  be  seen;  but 
shyness  was  relieved  from  the  awkwardness  so 
usual  and  so  painful  in  children  of  her  age  by 


THE  PICNIC  39 

the  results  of  what  must  have  been  a  careful 
training.  She  answered  when  she  was  spoken 
to,  directly  and  to  the  point;  and  yet  it  could 
not  but  be  evident  that  her  spirit  fluttered. 

The  combination  was  charming;  and  Mrs. 
Orde  fell  to  it  at  once. 

"Celia,  my  dear,"  she  said  kindly,  "come 
with  me,  we're  going  to  have  a  nice  day  together; 
and  I  have  a  little  boy  named  Bobby  who  will 
show  you  everything." 

But  now  the  Robert  O  gave  two  impatient 
toots.  Everybody  ceased  greeting  everybody 
else,  and  began  to  pile  the  shawls  and  lunch 
baskets  aboard.  The  thick  strong  gunwale 
of  the  Robert  O  was  a  foot  or  so  below  the 
chute  level  from  the  wharf.  The  women  were 
helped  aboard  soberly  by  the  men.  Miss 
Proctor,  however,  slipped  little  slips  and 
screamed  little  screams,  while  young  Mr.  Car- 
lin,  Bradford  and  Welton,  with  galvanized 
beaming  smiles,  all  attempted  to  help  her.  Mrs. 
Owen  marched  down  the  chute,  waited  calmly 
and  without  impatience  until  all  the  available 
men  were  at  hand,  and  then  stepped  down 
majestically  with  dignity  unimpaired. 

Long  before  this,  Bobby  had  quit  the  alto 
gether  uninteresting  wharf.  The  Robert  O  he 


40  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

had  seen  many  times  from  a  distance,  and  once 
of  twice  near  at  hand  lying  at  the  cribs  and 
piers,  but  this  was  his  first  chance  to  explore. 
Accordingly  he  dropped  down  to  her  deck, 
and,  with  the  natural  instinct  to  see  as  far  ahead 
as  possible,  marched  immediately  to  the  very 
prow.  The  deck  proved  to  slope  up-hill 
strangely,  which,  in  its  unlikeness  to  any  floor 
Bobby  had  ever  walked  on,  was  in  itself  a 
pleasure.  The  hawser  around  the  bitt  interested 
him;  and  the  glimpse  he  had  of  the  sparkling 
river  slipping  toward  him  from  the  yellow  hills 
up  stream.  He  could  just  rest  his  chin  on  the 
rail  to  look. 

Then  he  turned  his  gaze  aft;  and  encountered 
the  amused  scrutiny  of  a  man  leaning  on  a 
wheel  in  a  little  house.  The  house  had  big 
windows,  and  on  top  was  an  iron  eagle  with 
spread  wings.  Two  steps  led  up  to  a  door  on 
each  side;  and  Bobby  without  hesitation  entered 
one  of  these  doors. 

The  inside  of  the  house  he  found  different 
from  any  house  he  had  ever  been  in  before; 
and  possessed  of  a  strange  fascination.  There 
was  the  wheel,  with  projecting  handles  to  every 
spoke,  and  above  it,  racks  containing  spy 
glasses,  black  pipes,  tobacco-tins.  At  hand 


THE  PICNIC  41 

projected  a  speaking-tube  like  that  in  the  back 
hall  at  home,  and  two  or  three  handles  connected 
with  wires.  Behind  the  wheel  was  a  broad 
leather  seat;  and  clothes  on  nails;  and  a  chart; 
and  a  pilot's  licence,  of  which  Bobby  under 
stood  nothing,  but  admired  the  round  gold 
seals. 

"Well,  Bobby,  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 
asked  the  man. 

Bobby  had  not  had  time  to  look  at  the  man. 
He  did  so  now  and  liked  him.  The  first  thing 
he  noticed  was  the  man's  eyes,  which  were 
steady  and  unwavering  and  as  blue  as  the  sky. 
Then  he  surveyed  in  turn  gravely  his  heavy 
bleached,  flaxen  moustache;  his  hard  brown 
cheeks;  the  round  barrel  of  his  blue-clad  body; 
and  his  short  sturdy  legs. 

"Think  you'd  like  to  run  a  tug?"  inquired 
this  man. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Bobby;  "what  is  your 
name  ?" 

"I'm  Captain  Marsh,"  replied  the  man.  He 
glanced  out  the  open  door  at  the  group  on  the 
wharf.  "If  they're  going  up  past  the  bend 
to-day,  they'll  have  to  get  a  move,"  he  remarked. 
"Here,  Bobby,  want  to  blow  the  whistle?" 

He  lifted  the  boy  up  in  the  hollow  of  one 


42  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

arm.  "There,  that's  it;  that  handle.  Pull 
down  on  it,  and  let  go." 

Bobby  did  so  and  his  little  heart  almost 
stopped  at  the  shock  of  the  blast,  so  loud  was 
it,  and  so  near. 

"Now  again,"  commanded  Captain  Marsh. 

Bobby  recovered  and  obeyed.  The  pas 
sengers  began  to  embark. 

Captain  Marsh  watched  until  the  last  was 
safely  aboard;  then  he  set  Bobby  gently  to 
the  floor. 

"If  you  want  to  see  out,  go  sit  on  the  bunk 
back  there,"  he  advised. 

Somebody  cast  off  the  lines.  Captain  Marsh 
pulled  the  other  handle.  A  sharp  tinkling 
bell  struck  somewhere  far  in  the  depths  of  the 
craft.  Immediately  Bobby  felt  beneath  him 
the  upheaval  and  trembling  of  some  mighty 
force.  The  wharf  seemed  to  slip  back.  In 
another  moment  at  a  second  tinkle  of  the  bell 
the  tug  had  gathered  headway,  and  the  little  boy 
was  watching  with  delight  the  sandhills  and 
buildings  on  one  side  and  the  other  slipping  by 
in  regular  succession. 

Captain  Marsh  stood  easily  staring  directly 
ahead  of  him,  and  paying  no  more  attention 
to  the  child.  Bobby  sat  very  straight  in  his 


THE  PICNIC  43 

absorption.  New  impressions  were  coming  to 
him  so  fast  that  he  had  no  desire  to  move.  The 
slow  turn  of  the  great  wheel;  the  throb  of  the 
engine;  the  swift  passing  of  water;  the  orderly 
procession  of  the  river  banks;  the  feeling  of 
smooth,  resistless  motion  —  these  sufficed.  How 
long  he  might  have  sat  there  if  undisturbed,  it 
would  be  hard  to  say;  but  at  the  end  of  a  few 
moments  Angus  McMullen  looked  in  at  the  door. 

"What  you  stayin'  here  for,  Bobby?"  he 
inquired  with  contemptuous  wonder.  "Come 
on  out  and  see  the  big  waves  we're  making." 

Outside  Bobby  found  all  the  grown-ups 
gathered  forward  of  the  pilot  house.  The  older 
people  were  seated  on  folding  camp  chairs, 
the  equilibrium  of  which  they  found  some 
difficulty  in  maintaining  on  the  sloping  deck. 
Bradford,  Carlin,  Welton  and  Miss  Proctor, 
however,  had  established  themselves  in  the 
extreme  bow.  Miss  Proctor  perched  on  the 
bitts,  while  the  men  stood  or  leaned  near  at 
hand.  Occasionally,  as  the  tug  changed  course, 
Miss  Proctor  would  utter  a  little  exclamation 
and  thrust  her  arms  out  aimlessly,  as  though 
uncertain.  All  three  of  the  men  thereupon 
assured  her  balance  for  her.  With  the  group 
Bobby  saw  the  little  girl  with  light  hair. 


44  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Not  up  there,"  advised  Angus.  "This 
way."  A  very  narrow  passage  ran  between 
the  thick  gunwale  and  the  deck-house.  It 
sloped  down  and  then  gradually  up  toward 
the  stern.  At  its  lowest  point  it  seemed  to  Bobby 
fearfully  near  the  river;  and  as  he  descended 
to  that  point  he  discovered  that  indeed  the 
displacement  of  rapid  running  appeared  to 
force  the  water  even  above  the  level  of  the  deck. 
Bits  of  chip,  sawdust  and  the  like  shot  swiftly 
by  in  the  smooth,  oily  curve  of  the  liquid.  The 
wet  smell  of  it  came  to  Bobby's  eager  nostrils, 
the  subtle  cool  aroma  of  the  river. 

But,  from  a  little  door  level  with  the  deck, 
smoking  a  pipe,  leaned  a  negro  who  greeted 
them  jovially.  He  dwelt  in  a  narrow  place 
down  in  the  hull,  filled  with  machinery  and  the 
glow  of  a  furnace.  The  boys  hung  in  the  open 
ing  fascinated  by  the  regular  rise  and  fall  of 
the  polished  rods;  savouring  the  feel  of  heavy 
heated  air  and  the  clean  smell  of  oil.  In  a 
moment  the  negro  flung  open  an  iron  door 
whence  immediately  sprang  glowing  light  and 
a  blast  of  heat.  Into  this  door  he  thrust  two 
or  three  long  slabs  which  he  took  from  the 
deck  on  the  other  side  of  the  tug;  and  shut  it 
to  with  a  clang. 


THE  PICNIC  45 

After  gazing  their  fill,  the  boys  continued 
their  way  back.  The  deck-house  ended.  They 
found  themselves  on  the  broad,  flat,  spoon-shaped 
after-deck  occupied  by  the  strong  towing-bitts 
and  coils  of  cable. 

"Isn't  this  great?"  asked  Angus. 

They  joined  the  Fuller  boys  hanging  eagerly 
over  the  stern.  Here  the  wake  boiled  white 
and  full  of  bubbles  from  the  action  of  the 
powerful  propeller  necessary  to  a  towing-tug. 
Along  the  edges  it  was  light  green  shot  with 
blue;  and  the  central  line  of  its  down-section 
waved  from  side  to  side  like  a  snake.  On 
either  side  long,  slanting  waves  pushed  aside 
by  the  bow  surged  smoothly  away;  behind 
followed  other  round  waves  in  regular  and 
diminishing  succession.  Over  them  the  chips 
and  bark  rode  with  a  jolly,  dancing  motion. 

Shortly,  however,  the  younger  people  dis 
covered  the  possibilities  of  the  after-deck.  Miss 
Proctor  leaned  her  back  against  the  low  gunwale 
astern.  The  men  disposed  themselves  about 
her.  They  talked  with  a  great  deal  of  laughter; 
but  Bobby  did  not  find  their  conversation 
amusing.  Finally  they  began  to  entreat  Mr. 
Bradford  to  play  his  banjo.  That  young  gentle 
man  became  suddenly  afflicted  with  shyness. 


46  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"I  don't  play  much,"  he  objected.  "  Honestly 
I  don't  —  just  picked  up  a  few  chords  by  ear." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Bradford,"  cried  Miss  Proctor, 
"I've  heard  you  play  beautifully.  Do  get  it." 

Mr.  Bradford  objected  further;  and  was  further 
cajoled  by  Miss  Proctor.  Bobby  wondered  why 
he  had  brought  the  banjo  along,  if  he  didn't 
want  to  play  on  it.  The  other  men  did  none 
of  the  persuading.  Finally  Mr.  Bradford  pro 
cured  the  instrument.  He  took  some  time  to 
tune  it;  and  had  something  to  say  concerning 
damp  air  and  the  strings.  Finally  he  played 
the  "Spanish  Fandango,"  to  the  enthusiasm 
of  Miss  Proctor  and  the  polite  attention  of  the 
other  men.  This  he  followed  by  a  song  called 
"Listen  to  the  Mocking  Bird,"  the  chorus  to 
which  consisted  of  complicated  gurgling  whist 
ling  supposed  to  represent  the  song  of  the 
mocking  bird,  though  it  is  to  be  doubted  if 
that  performer  would  have  recognized  himself 
in  it.  Miss  Proctor  approving  of  this,  Brad 
ford  next  played  a  trick  piece,  in  the  course  of 
which  he  did  acrobatics  with  his  instrument, 
but  without  missing  a  note. 

Carlin  and  Welton  finally  strolled  away 
unnoticed.  The  lumberman  offered  the  other 
a  cigar. 


THE  PICNIC  47 

"Ain't  no  use  buckin'  the  funny  man  with 
the  banjo,  Tommy,"  he  observed  with  a  rueful 
grin. 

Mr.  Bradford  now  put  two  pennies  under 
the  bridge. 

''Makes  it  sound  like  a  guitar,"  he  explained; 
and  drifted  into  thrillingly  sentimental  selections. 
He  sang  three  in  so  low  a  voice  that  Bobby 
began  to  think  it  useless  to  listen  any  more; 
when  a  loud  and  prolonged  whistle  from  the 
tug  drowned  all  other  sounds.  Mr.  Bradford 
looked  savage;  but  the  boys  were  delighted. 

"Going  to  pass  the  drawbridge!"  shrieked 
Angus. 

They  raced  away  to  the  bow  in  order  to  watch 
the  imminence  of  the  great  structure  over  their 
heads;  to  see  the  smokestack  dip  back  on  its 
hinges  as  they  passed  beneath;  and  to  gloat 
over  the  smash  of  their  waves  against  the  piling 
of  the  bridge's  foundation.  Here  Bobby  was 
captured  by  Mrs.  Orde. 

"Here,  Bobby,"  said  she,  "This  is  Celia 
Carleton,  and  I  want  you  to  be  nice  to  her." 

With  that  she  left  them  staring  at  each  other. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  remarked  Bobby  gravely. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?"   said  she. 

They  were  no  further  along. 


48  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"I  got  a  new  knife,"  blurted  out  Bobby, 
in  desperation. 

"That's  nice,"  said  Celia  politely.  "Let's 
see  it." 

"I  haven't  got  it  with  me,"  confessed  Bobby. 
He  was  ashamed  to  say  that  he  was  not  yet 
permitted  to  use  it. 

He  glanced  at  her  sideways.  Somehow  he 
liked  the  fresh  clean  stiffness  of  her  starched 
skirts,  and  the  biscuit  brown  of  her  complexion. 
He  desired  all  at  once  that  she  think  well  of  him. 

"I  can  jump  off  our  high-board  fence  to  the 
ground,"  he  boasted. 

Celia  seemed  impressed. 

"My  knife's  nothing,"  said  Bobby,  "My 
father's  got  a  razor  that  can  cut  anything. 
He  lets  me  take  it  whenever  I  want  it.  It's 
awful  sharp.  If  I  had  it  here  I  could  cut  this 
boat  right  in  two  with  it." 

"My!"  said  Celia,  "But  I  wouldn't  want 
to  cut  it  in  two.  Would  you?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Bobby,  his  legs 
apart,  his  head  on  one  side.  He  was  sure  now 
that  he  liked  this  new  acquaintance;  she  seemed 
pleasantly  to  be  awestricken.  "Come  on,  let's 
go  in  the  back  part  of  the  boat"  he  suggested, 
"and  I'll  show  you  things." 


THE  PICNIC  49 

"All  right,"  said  she. 

Bobby  led  her  past  the  scornful  Angus  to 
the  narrow  deck. 

"This  is  the  engine  room,"  he  announced 
out  of  his  new  knowledge. 

But  Celia  did  not  care  for  it. 

"It's  awfully  dirty,"  said  she. 

This  was  a  new  point  of  view;  and  Bobby 
marvelled.  However,  she  was  delighted  with 
the  after-deck,  and  the  wake,  and  the  attendant 
waves.  Bobby  showed  them  off  to  her  as 
though  they  had  been  his  private  possessions. 
This  was  the  first  little  girl  he  had  ever  known. 
The  novelty  appealed  to  him;  the  daintiness 
of  her;  the  freshness  and  cleanness;  the  depen 
dence  of  her  on  Bobby's  ten  years  of  experience 
—  all  this  brought  out  the  latent  and  instinctive 
male  admiration  of  the  child.  He  remained 
heedless  of  the  other  three  boys  hanging  awk 
wardly  in  the  middle  distance.  All  his  small 
store  of  knowledge  he  poured  out  before  her  — 
he  told  her  everything,  without  reservation  — 
of  Duke,  and  the  sand-hills,  and  the  fort,  and 
Sir  Thomas  Malory,  and  the  booms,  and  the 
Flobert  Rifle,  and  the  "Dutchmen"  on  the 
side  street.  She  found  it  all  interesting.  They 
became  very  good  friends. 


50  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

In  the  meantime  Mr.  Bradford  had  long 
since  laid  aside  the  banjo,  and  was  basking 
in  Miss  Proctor's  unshared  attention.  The 
pleased  smile  never  left  his  face;  the  lean  of 
his  head  bespoke  deep  deference;  the  curve 
of  his  body  respectful  devotion.  He  talked  in 
a  low  voice,  and  every  moment  or  so  Miss 
Proctor  would  giggle,  or  exclaim,  "Oh, 
Mr.  Bradford!"  in  a  pleased  and  reproving 
voice. 

In  the  meantime  the  tug  was  going  rapidly 
up  river;  and  yet,  with  the  exception  of  an 
occasional  glance  from  some  isolated  individual, 
and  the  sporadic  attention  of  the  boys,  no  one 
saw  what  was  passing.  All  were  absorbed  by 
the  people,  the  little  happenings  and  the  talk 
aboard  the  craft.  So  without  comment  they 
swept  past  the  tall  yellow  sand-hills  with  their 
fringe  of  crested  trees  on  the  left;  and  the  wide 
plain  on  the  right.  Only  Bobby  remarked  the 
deep  bayou  in  the  bosom  of  the  hills  where 
dreamed  in  the  peace  and  mystery  of  an  honour 
able  old  age  the  hulks  of  a  dozen  vessels  rotting 
in  the  sun.  The  shipyards  and  the  mills  the 
other  side  the  drawbridge  nobody  saw,  for  at 
that  time  even  Bobby  was  absorbed  in  his  new 
acquaintance. 


THE   PICNIC  51 

But  beyond  that,  the  boy  having  offered  and 
the  girl  received  the  first  burst  of  confidence, 
the  children  turned  their  attention  to  things 
passing.  They  saw  the  wide  marshes  of  rushes 
and  cat-tails,  with  their  bayous  and  channels 
wherein  swam  the  white-billed  mud-hens;  and 
the  long  booms  to  the  left  filled  with  brown  logs. 
From  this  level,  low  to  the  water,  these  things 
seemed  to  them  wonderful  and  vast.  After  a 
little  the  Robert  O  whistled  again.  They 
passed  the  swing  at  the  upper  end  of  the  booms. 
Old  man  North  stood,  in  the  doorway  of  his 
hut,  smoking  his  short  black  pipe  upside  down. 
Bobby  was  astonished  to  see  how  different  the 
hut  looked  from  this  point  of  view.  He  would 
hardly  have  recognized  it  were  it  not  for  the 
swing-tender,  who  waved  his  pipe  at  Bobby 
when  the  tug  passed. 

"I  know  him,"  said  Bobby  proudly  to 
Celia. 

The  Robert  O  swept  through,  and  the  long 
slanting  waves,  and  the  round  following  waves 
sucked  up  and  down  among  the  piles. 

"Now  we're  going  around  the  Bend!"  cried 
Bobby  excitedly.  "I  never  been  around  the 
Bend!" 

But  Celia  suddenly  arose. 


52  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"I'm  going  back  to  mamma  and  the  rest," 
she  announced. 

"Why?"  asked  Bobby  astonished.  "Come 
on;  stay  here  and  see  what  there  is  around 
the  Bend." 

Celia  stood  on  one  foot,  her  black  eyes  wide 
and  speculative,  staring  past  Bobby  into  some 
fair  realm  of  feminine  caprice.  She  shook  her 
head,  slowly,  so  that  first  a  curl  on  one  side,  then 
on  the  other  fell  across  her  eyes.  After  a  long 
deliberate  moment  she  turned  and  went  forward, 
followed  at  a  distance  by  the  grieved  and  puzzled 
Bobby.  In  the  bow  she  sidled  up  to  her  mother, 
against  whom  she  leaned  lightly,  her  head  on 
one  side,  her  eyes  dreamy,  her  hand  slipped 
into  one  of  her  mother's  open  palms.  Bobby, 
shut  out,  made  his  way  to  the  prow,  where  he 
rested  his  chin  on  the  rail,  and  rather  glumly 
contemplated  the  surprises  of  "around  the 
Bend." 

But  over  the  prow  the  little  boy  was  the  first  — 
except  for  Captain  Marsh  —  to  see  from  afar 
the  landing,  first  as  a  glimmering  shadow  under 
the  reflection  of  the  elms;  then  as  a  vague 
ill-defined  form  above  the  River's  glassy  sur 
face;  finally  as  a  wide,  low,  T-shaped  platform 
wharf,  reaching  its  twenty  feet  from  the  grassy 


THE  PICNIC  53 

banks  to  shimmer  in  the  heat  above  its  own 
wavering  reflection. 

The  tug  sidled  alongside  with  a  great  turmoil 
of  white-and-green  bubble-shot  water  drifting 
around  in  eddies  from  her  labouring  propeller. 
Captain  Marsh,  after  one  prolonged  jingle  of 
his  bell  emerged  from  his  pilot-house,  seized 
a  heavy  rope,  and  sprang  ashore.  The  end 
of  the  rope  he  cast  around  a  snubbing-pile. 

But  some  inset  of  current  or  excess  of  momen 
tum  made  it  impossible  to  hold  her.  The  rope 
creaked  and  cried  as  it  was  dragged  around 
the  smooth  snubbing-pile.  Finally  the  end  was 
drawn  so  close  that  Captain  Marsh  was  in 
danger  of  jamming  his  hands.  At  once,  with 
inconceivable  dexterity  and  quickness,  he  cast 
loose,  ran  forward,  wrapped  the  line  three 
times  around  another  pile  farther  on  and  braced 
his  short,  sturdy  legs  against  the  post  for  a 
trial  of  strength.  Here  the  heavy,  slow  surge 
of  the  tug  was  effectually  checked.  Captain 
Marsh  turned  his  wide  grin  of  triumph  toward 
his  passengers.  Everybody  laughed,  and  pre 
pared  to  disembark. 

Between  the  gunwale  and  the  wharf's  edge 
could  be  seen  a  narrow  glinting  strip  of  very 
black  water.  The  Robert  O  slowly  approached 


54  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

and  receded  from  the  dock;  and  this  strip  of 
water  correspondingly  widened  and  narrowed. 
Over  it  every  one  must  step;  and  the  anxieties 
and  precautions  were  something  tremendous. 
Bobby  came  toward  the  last,  and  was  lifted 
bodily  across,  his  sturdy  legs  curling  up  under 
like  a  crab's. 

The  wharf  he  found  broad  and  square  and 
shady,  with  a  narrow  way  leading  ashore.     In 
the  middle  of  it  were  piled,  awaiting  shipment 
on  the  Lucy  Belle,  three  tiers  of  the  old-fashioned, 
open-built,  pail-shaped  peach-baskets  contain 
ing   the   famous   Michigan   fruit.        Each   was 
filled  to   a  gentle  curve  above  the  brim,   and 
over  the  top  was  wired  pink  mosquito  netting. 
This  at  once  protected  the  fruit  from  insects; 
added  to  the  brilliancy  and  softness  of  its  colour 
ing;  and  le^t  to  the  rows  of  baskets  a  gay  and 
holiday  appearance.     The  men  examined  them 
attentively,    talking    of    "cling    stones,"    "free 
stones,"  "Crawfords,"  and  other  technicalities 
which    Bobby    could    not    understand.     When 
the  last  lunch  basket  had  been  passed  ashore, 
all   crossed  to  the  bank  of  the  river  and  the 
grove  of  elms,  leaving  the  Robert  O  and  Captain 
Marsh  and  the  engineer. 

In  the  grove  the   boys  immediately  scattered 


THE  PICNIC  55 

in  search  of  adventure.  All  but  Bobby.  He 
remained  with  the  older  people,  wishing  mightily 
to  take  Celia  with  him;  but  suddenly  afraid  to 
approach  her  with  the  direct  request.  So  he 
contented  himself  with  expressive  gestures,  which 
she,  close  to  her  mother,  chose  to  ignore. 

Two  of  the  men  disappeared  up  the  path, 
one  carrying  an  empty  pail.  The  others  went 
busily  about  collecting  wood,  building  a  fire, 
smoothing  out  a  place  to  spread  the  rugs  which 
would  serve  as  a  table.  All  the  women  fluttered 
about  the  lunch  baskets  examining  the  contents, 
discussing  them,  finally  distributing  them  in 
accordance  with  the  mysterious  system  con 
sidered  proper  in  such  matters.  Bobby,  left 
alone,  without  occupation  on  the  one  hand, 
nor  the  desire  for  his  companions'  amusements 
on  the  other,  was  then  the  only  one  at  leisure 
to  look  about  him,  to  observe  through  the  alders 
that  fringed  the  bank  the  hide-and-seek  glint 
of  the  River;  to  gaze  with  wonder  and  a  little 
awe  on  the  canopy  of  waving  light  green  that 
to  his  childish  sense  of  proportion  seemed  as 
far  above  him  as  the  skies  themselves;  to  notice 
how  the  sunlight  splashed  through  the  rifts  as 
though  it  had  been  melted  and  poured  down 
from  above;  to  feel  the  friendly  warmth  of 


56  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

summer  air  under  trees;  to  savour  the  hot 
springwood-smells  that  wandered  here  and  there 
in  the  careless  irresponsibility  of  forest  spirits 
off  duty.  This  was  Bobby's  first  experience 
with  woods;  and  his  keenest  perceptions  were 
alive  to  them.  The  tall  trunks  of  trees  rising 
from  the  graceful,  fragile,  half-translucence  of 
undergrowth;  little  round  tunnels  to  a  distant 
delicate  green;  lights  against  shadows,  and 
shadows  against  lights;  the  wing- flashes  of 
birds  hidden  and  mysterious;  and  above  all 
the  marvellous  green  transparence  of  all  the 
shadows,  which  tinted  the  very  air  itself,  so 
that  to  the  little  boy  it  seemed  he  could  bathe 
in  it  as  in  a  clear  fountain  —  all  these  came  to 
him  at  once.  And  each  brought  by  the  hand 
another  wonder  for  recognition,  so  that  at  last 
the  picnic  party  disappeared  from  his  vision, 
the  loud  and  laughing  voices  were  hushed  from 
his  ears.  He  stood  there,  lips  apart,  eyes  wide, 
spirit  hushed,  looking  half  upward.  The  light 
struck  down  across  him. 

The  picnic  party  went  about  its  business 
unaware  of  the  wonderful  thing  transacting  in 
their  very  presence.  Men  do  not  grow  as 
plants,  so  many  inches,  so  many  months.  The 
changes  prepare  long  and  in  secret,  without 


THE   PICNIC  57 

visible  indication.  Then  swiftly  they  take  place. 
The  qualities  of  the  soul  unfold  silently  their 
splendid  wings. 

After  a  moment  the  boys  ran  whooping 
through  the  woods  from  one  direction  demand 
ing  food;  the  two  men  came  shouting  from 
the  other  carrying  a  pail  of  water  and  an  open 
basket  of  magnificent  peaches.  Bobby  shivered 
slightly,  and  looked  about  him,  half  dazed,  as 
though  he  had  just  awakened.  Then  quietly 
he  crept  to  a  tree  near  the  table  and  sat  down. 
For  perhaps  a  minute  he  remained  there;  then 
with  a  rush  came  the  reaction.  Bobby  was 
wildly  and  reprehensibly  naughty. 

Once  in  a  while,  and  after  meals,  Mrs.  Orde 
allowed  him  a  single  piece  of  sponge-cake;  no 
more.  But  now,  Bobby,  catching  the  eye  of 
Celia  upon  him,  grimaced,  pantomimed  to 
call  attention,  and  deliberately  broke  off  a  big 
chunk  of  Mrs.  Owen's  frosted  work  of  art  and 
proceeded  to  devour  it.  Celia' s  eyes  widened 
with  horror;  which  to  Bobby's  depraved  state 
of  mind  was  reward  enough.  Then  Mrs. 
Orde  uttered  a  cry  of  astonishment;  Mrs.  Owen 
a  dignified  but  outraged  snort;  and  Bobby  was 
yanked  into  space. 

After  the  storm  had  cleared,  he  found  himself, 


58  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

somewhat  dishevelled,  aboard  the  Robert  O, 
entrusted  to  Captain  Marsh,  provided  with 
three  bread-and-butter  sandwiches,  and  prom 
ised  a  hair-brush  spanking  for  the  morrow. 

Mrs.  Orde  was  not  only  mortified,  but  shocked 
to  the  very  depths  of  her  faith. 

"I  don't  know  how  to  explain  it!"  she  said 
again  and  again.  "  Bobby  is  always  so  good 
about  such  things!  I've  brought  him  up  — 
and  deliberately.  My  dear  Mrs.  Owen,  such 
a  beautiful  frosting,  and  to  have  it  ruined  like 
that!" 

But  Mrs.  Fuller,  fat,  placid,  perhaps  slightly 
stupid,  here  rose  to  the  heights  of  what  her 
husband  always  admiringly  called  "horse  sense," 

"Now,  Carroll,"  she  said,  "stop  your  worry 
ing  about  it.  You'll  get  yourself  all  worked 
up  and  spoil  your  lunch  and  ours,  all  for  nothing. 
Children  will  be  naughty  sometimes.  I  was 
naughty  myself.  So  were  you,  probably.  That's 
human  nature.  Just  don't  worry  about  it  and 
spoil  the  good  time." 

Mrs.  Orde  thereupon  fell  silent,  for  she  was 
a  sensible  woman  and  could  see  the  point  as  to 
lessening  the  other's  enjoyment.  Little  by  little 
she  cooled  off,  until  at  last  she  was  able  to  join 
in  the  fun;  although  alvavs  in  the  background 


THE  PICNIC  59 

of  her  mind  persisted  the  necessity  of  knowing 
a  reason  for  such  an  outbreak. 

The  flurry  over,  Welton  insisted  that  they 
all  admire  the  peaches. 

"Best  Michigan  produces/'  he  boasted. 
c" Every  one  big  as  a  coffee-cup;  and  perfect 
in  shape,  colour  and  flavour.  Freestone,  too. 
Nothing  exceptional  about  them  either.  Mil 
lions  more  just  like  'em.  Can't  match  them 
anywhere  in  the  world." 

"Saw  by  the  paper  this  spring  that  the  peach 
crop  was  ruined  by  the  frost,"  marvelled  Carlin. 

Taylor  laughed. 

"My  dear  fellow,  the  Michigan  peach  crop 
is  destroyed  regularly  every  spring.  Seem  to 
be  enough  peaches  by  August,  however." 

They  fell  to  on  the  lunch.  When  they  had  eaten 
all  they  could,  there  still  remained  enough  to  have 
fed  four  other  picnics  of  the  same  size  as  their  own 

Bobby  remained  not  long  cast  down,  however. 

"Been  at  it,  have  you?"  observed  Captain 
Marsh  after  the  irate  parent  had  departed. 
"What  was  it  this  time?" 

"I  ate  a  piece  of  cake,"  replied  Bobby. 

"H'm!     That  doesn't  sound  very  bad." 

"It  was  Mrs.  Owen's  cake,"  supplemented 
Bobby. 


60  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"I  see,"  said  the  Captain  gravely  in  enlighten 
ment.  "What  are  you  going  to  do  now?" 

"I'm  going  to  eat  my  lunch,"  Bobby  informed 
him,  showing  the  three  bread-and-butter  sand 
wiches. 

"  H'm.  So  'm  I,"  said  the  Captain.  "Better 
join  me." 

They  entered  the  pilot-house  and  established 
themselves  facing  each  other  on  the  wide  leather 
seat.  The  Captain  produced  a  tin  dinner-pail 
with  a  cupola  top  such  as  Bobby  had  often 
seen  men  carrying,  and  which  he  had  always 
desired  to  investigate.  This  came  apart  in 
the  middle.  The  top  proved  to  contain  cold 
coffee  all  sugared  and  creamed.  The  bottom 
had  a  fringed  red-checked  napkin,  two  slabs 
of  pie,  two  doughnuts,  and  four  thick  ham 
sandwiches  made  of  coarse  bread.  They  ate. 
Captain  Marsh  insisted  on  Bobby's  accepting 
a  doughnut  and  a  piece  of  pie.  Bobby  did 
so,  with  many  misgivings;  but  found  them 
delicious  exceedingly  because  they  were  so 
different  from  what  he  was  used  to  at  home. 

"Now,"  said  the  Captain,  brushing  away 
the  crumbs  with  one  comprehensive  gesture, 
"what  do  you  want  to  do  now?  You  got  to 
stay  aboard,  you  know?" 


THE  PICNIC  61 

"Can't  we  fish?"    suggested  Bobby  timidly. 

The  Captain  looked  about  him  with  some 
doubt. 

"Well/'  he  decided  at  last,  "we  might  try. 
The  time  of  day's  wrong,  and  the  place  don't 
look  much  good;  but  there's  no  harm  trying." 

Two  long  bamboo  poles  fitted  with  lines, 
hooks,  and  sinkers  were  slung  alongside  the 
deck-house.  Captain  Marsh  produced  worms 
in  a  can.  The  two  sat  side  by  side,  dangling 
their  feet  over  the  stern,  the  poles  slanting 
down  toward  the  dark  water,  silent  and  intent. 
In  not  more  than  two  minutes  Bobby  felt  his 
pole  twitch.  Without  much  difficulty  he  drew 
to  the  surface  a  broad  flat  little  fish  that  flashed 
as  he  turned  in  the  water. 

"Hi!"    cried  Bobby,  "there  are  fish  here!" 

"Oh,  that's  a  sunfish,"  said  Captain  Marsh. 

Bobby  looked  up. 

"Aren't  sunfish  good  ?"  he  inquired  anxiously. 

Captain  Marsh  opened  his  mouth  to  reply, 
caught  Bobby's  apprehensive  and  half-disap 
pointed  expression,  and  thought  better  of  it. 

"Why,  sure!"   said  he.     "They're  a  fine  fish." 

'At  the  end  of  an  hour  Bobby  had  acquired 

a   goodly   string.     Captain    Marsh   early   drew 

in  his  line,  saying  he  preferred  to  smoke.     Bobby 


62  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

had  an  excellent  time.  He  was  very  much 
surprised  at  the  return  of  the  picnic  party. 
The  period  of  punishment  had  not  hung  heavy. 

By  the  time  all  had  embarked,  the  steam 
pressure  was  up.  The  Robert  O  swung  down 
stream  for  home. 

But  now  Celia,  forgetting  her  earlier  caprice 
of  indifference,  watched  Bobby  constantly. 
After  a  little  he  became  aware  of  it,  and  was 
flattered  in  his  secret  soul,  but  he  attempted  no 
more  advances,  nor  did  he  vouchsafe  her  the 
smallest  glance.  Soon  she  sidled  over  to  him 
shyly. 

;'What  made  you  do  it?"  she  asked  in  a 
whisper. 

"Do  what?"  pretended  Bobby. 

"Break  Mrs.  Owen's  cake." 

"'Cause  I  wanted  to." 

"Didn't  you  know  't  was  very  bad?" 

"'Course." 

Celia  contemplated  Bobby  with  a  new  and 
respectful  interest.  "I  wouldn't  dare  do  it," 
she  acknowledged  at  last.  In  this  lay  confession 
of  the  reason  for  her  change  of  whim;  but 
Bobby  could  not  be  expected  to  realize  that. 
With  masculine  directness  he  seized  the  root 
of  his  grievance  and  brought  it  to  light. 


THE  PICNIC  63 

"Why  were  you  so  mean  this  noon?"  he 
demanded. 

She  made  wide  eyes. 

"I  wasn't  mean.     How  was  I  mean ?" 

'You  went  away;  and  you  wouldn't  look 
at  me  or  talk  to  me." 

"I  didn't  care  whether  I  talked  to  you  or  not," 
she  denied.  "I  wanted  to  be  with  my  mamma." 

So  on  the  return  trip,  too,  Bobby  had  a  good 
time.  The  wharf  surprised  him,  and  the  flurry 
of  disembarkation  prevented  his  saying  formal 
good-bye  to  Celia.  He  waved  his  hand  at  her, 
however,  and  grinned  amiably.  To  his  aston 
ishment  she  gave  him  the  briefest  possible  nod 
over  her  shoulder;  and  walked  away,  her  hand 
clasping  that  of  her  mother,  even  yet  a  dainty 
airy  figure  in  her  mussed  white  dress  still  flaring 
with  starch,  her  slim  black  legs,  and  her  wide 
leghorn  hat  with  the  red  roses. 

The  hurt  and  puzzle  of  this  lasted  him  to 
his  home,  and  caused  him  to  forget  the  spanking 
in  prospect.  He  ate  his  supper  in  silence, 
quite  unaware  of  his  mother's  disapproval. 
After  supper  he  hunted  up  Duke  and  sat  watch 
ing  the  sunset  behind  the  twisted  pines  on  the 
sandhills.  He  did  much  cogitating,  but  arrived 
nowhere. 


64  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"  Bobby!"  called  his  mother.    "Come  to  bed." 

He  said  good  night  to  Duke,   and  obeyed. 

"Now,  Bobby,"  said  Mrs.  Orde,  "I  don't 
like  to  do  this,  but  you  have  been  a  very  naughty 
boy  to-day.  Come  here." 

Bobby  came.  The  hair  brush  did  its  work. 
Usually  in  such  case  Bobby  howled  before 
the  first  blow  fell,  but  to-night  he  set  his  lips 
and  uttered  no  sounds.  Slap!  slap!  slap! 
slap!  with  deliberate  spaces  between.  Bobby 
was  released.  He  climbed  down,  his  soul  tense, 
with  agony,  but  his  face  steady  —  and  laughed ! 

It  was  not  much  of  a  laugh,  to  be  sure,  but 
a  laugh  it  was.  Mrs.  Orde,  shocked,  scandal 
ized,  outraged  and  now  thoroughly  angry, 
yanked  her  son  again  across  her  knees. 

"Why!  I  never  heard  of  anything  like  it!" 
she  cried.  'You  naughty,  naughty  boy!  I 
don't  see  what's  got  into  you  to-day.  I'll 
teach  you  to  laugh  at  my  spankings!" 

Bobby  did  not  laugh  at  this  spanking.  It 
was  more  than  a  stone  could  have  borne.  After 
the  fifth  well-directed  and  vigorous  smack, 
he  howled. 

Later,  when  the  tempest  of  sobs  had  stilled 
to  occasional  gulps,  Mrs.  Orde  questioned  him 
about  it.  They  were  rocking  back  and  forth  in 


THE  PICNIC  65 

the  big  chair,  the  twilight  all  about  them.  Bobby 
said  he  was  sorry  and  his  mamma  had  cuddled 
him  and  loved  him,  and  all  was  forgiven. 

"Now,  Bobby,  tell  mamma,"  soothed  Mrs. 
Orde.  "Why  were  you  such  a  bad  little  boy 
as  to  laugh  at  mamma  when  she  spanked  you 
just  now?" 

"I  wasn't  bad,"  protested  Bobby,  "I  was 
trying  to  be  good.  You  told  me  not  to  cry 
when  I  got  hurt,  but  to  jump  up  and  laugh 
about  it." 

" Oh,  my  baby,  my  poor  little  man!"  cried 
Mrs.  Orde  between  laughter  and  tears. 

They  rocked  some  more. 

"Now,  Bobby,  tell  mamma,"  insisted  Mrs. 
Orde  gently.  "Why  did  you  break  Mrs.  Owen's 
cake?  Were  you  as  hungry  as  all  that?" 

"No  ma'am,"  replied  Bobby. 

"Why  did  you  do  it,  then?" 

"I  don't  know." 

Mr.  Orde  laughed  uproariously  when  told 
of  Bobby's  attempt  to  be  brave  under  affliction. 

"The  little  snoozer!"  he  cried.  "Guess 
I'll  go  up  and  see  him." 

Bobby  loved  to  have  his  father  lie  beside  him 
on  the  bed.  They  never  said  much;  but  the 
little  boy  lay,  looking  up  through  the  dimness, 


<36  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

bathed  in  a  deep  comfortable  content  at  the 
man's  physical  presence. 

To-night  they  lay  thus  in  silence  for  at  least 
five  minutes.  Then  Bobby  spoke. 

"Papa,"  said  he  "don't  you  think  Celia 
Carleton  is  pretty?" 

"Very  pretty,  Bobby." 

Another  long  silence. 

"Papa,"  complained  Bobby  at  last,  "why 
does  Celia  be  nice  to  me;  and  then  not  be  nice 
to  me;  and  change  all  the  while  ?" 

Mr.  Orde  chuckled  softly  to  himself. 

'That's  the  way  of  'em,  Bobby,"   said  he. 

'There's   no  explaining  it.     All   little  girls   are 

that    way --and    big    girls,    too,"    he    added. 

So  long  a  pause  ensued  that  Mr.  Orde  thought 
his  son  must  be  asleep,  and  was  preparing 
softly  to  escape. 

"Papa,"  came  the  little  boy's  voice  from  the 
darkness,  "I  like  her  just  the  same." 

"Carroll,"  said  Mr.  Orde  to  his  wife  as  blink 
ing  he  entered  the  lighted  sitting  room,  "you 
can  recover  your  soul's  equanimity.  I've  found 
out  why  he  broke  into  the  cake." 

:<  Why  ?"   asked  Mrs.  Orde  eagerly. 
"He  was  showing  off  before  that  little  Carle- 
Ion  girl,"  replied  Mr.  Orde. 


Ill 

HIDE    AND    COOP 

Early  Monday  morning  Bobby  was  afoot  and 
on  his  way  to  the  Ottawa  Hotel.  He  ran  fast 
until  within  a  block  of  it;  then  unexpectedly 
his  gait  slackened  to  a  walk,  finally  to  a  loiter. 
He  became  strangely  reluctant,  strangely  bashful 
about  approaching  the  place.  This  was  not  to 
be  understood. 

Usually  when  he  wanted  to  go  play  with  any 
one,  he  simply  went  and  did  so.  Now  all  sorts 
of  barriers  seemed  to  intervene,  and  the  worst 
of  it  was  that  these  barriers  he  seemed  to  have 
spun  from  out  his  own  soul.  Then  too  a  queer 
feeling  suddenly  invaded  his  chest,  exactly  like 
that  he  remembered  to  have  experienced  during 
the  downward  rush  of  a  swing.  Bobby  could 
not  comprehend  these  things;  they  just  were. 
He  was  fairly  to  the  point  of  deciding  to  go  back 
and  look  at  the  Flobert  Rifle,  in  the  shop  win 
dow,  when  a  group  of  children  ran  out  from  the 
wide  office  doors  to  the  croquet  court  at  the  side. 


67 


68  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

Among  them  Bobby  made  out  Celia,  a  differ 
ent  Celia  from  her  of  the  picnic.  Her  curls 
danced  as  full  of  life  and  light  as  ever;  the 
biscuit  brown  of  her  complexion  glowed  as 
smooth  and  clean;  even  from  a  distance  Bobby 
could  see  the  contrast  of  her  black  eyes;  but 
on  her  head  she  wore  a  brown  chip  hat;  her 
gown  was  of  plain  blue  gingham;  her  slim 
straight  legs  were  encased  in  heavy  strong 
stockings.  She  looked  like  a  healthy,  lively 
little  girl  out  for  a  good  time;  and  the  sight 
cheered  Bobby's  wavering  courage  as  nothing 
else  could.  His  vague  ideas  of  retreat  were 
discarded. 

But  he  did  not  know  how  to  approach.  The 
children  inside  the  low  rail  fence  were  placing 
the  brilliantly-striped  wooden  balls  in  a  row 
in  order  to  determine  by  'pinking'  at  the  stake 
who  should  have  the  advantageous  last  shot. 
Bobby,  irresolute,  halted  outside,  shifting 
uneasily,  wanting  to  join  the  group,  but  with 
held  by  the  unwonted  bashfulness.  Amid  shouts 
and  exclamations  each  clicked  his  mallet  against 
his  ball,  and  immediately  ran  forward  with  the 
greatest  eagerness  to  see  how  near  the  stake  he 
had  come.  At  last  the  group  formed  close. 
A  moment's  dispute  cleared.  Celia  had  won, 


HIDE  AND  COOP  69 

and  now  stood  erect,  her  cheeks  flushing,  her 
eyes  dancing  with  triumph.  In  so  doing  she 
caught  sight  of  Bobby  hesitating  outside. 

"Why,  there's  Bobby!"  she  cried.  "Come 
on  in,  Bobby,  and  play ! " 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice,  all  his  timidity 
vanished.  He  entered  boldly  and  joined  the 
others. 

"This  is  Bobby,"  announced  Celia  by  way 
of  general  introduction,  "and  this,"  she  con 
tinued,  turning  to  Bobby,  "is  Gerald,  and 
Morris,  and  Kitty  and  Margaret." 

"Hullo,"  said  Morris,  "Grab  a  mallet,  and 


come  on.': 


Bobby  liked  Morris,  who  was  a  short,  red 
headed  boy  of  jolly  aspect.  Gerald,  a  youth 
of  perhaps  twelve  years  of  age,  rather  tall  and 
slender,  of  very  dark,  clear,  pale  complexion, 
nodded  carelessly.  Bobby  took  an  immediate 
distaste  for  him.  He  looked  altogether  too 
superior,  and  sleepy  and  distinguished  —  yes, 
and  stylish.  Bobby  was  very  young  and  inex 
perienced;  but  even  he  could  feel  that  Gerald's 
round  straw  hat,  and  norf oik-cut  jacket,  and 
neat,  loose,  short  trousers  buckled  at  the  knee 
contrasted  a  little  more  than  favourably  with 
his  own  chip  hat,  blue  blouse  and  tight  breeches. 


70  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

Also  he  was  already  dusty,  while  Gerald  was 
immaculate. 

As  to  Kitty  and  Margaret,  they  were  nice, 
neat,  clean,  pretty  little  girls  —  but  not  like 
Celia! 

Bobby  found  a  mallet  and  ball  in  the  long 
wooden  case,  and  joined  the  game.  He  was 
not  skilful  at  it,  and  soon  fell  behind  the  others 
in  the  progress  through  the  wickets.  Indeed, 
when,  after  two  strokes,  he  had  at  last  gained 
position  for  the  "middle  arch,"  he  met  Gerald 
coming  the  other  way.  Gerald  shot  for  his 
ball;  hit  it;  and  then,  with  a  disdainful  air, 
knocked  Bobby  away  out  of  bounds  across  the 
lawn.  This  was  quite  within  the  rules,  but 
it  made  Bobby  angry  just  the  same.  As  he 
trudged  doggedly  away  after  his  ball,  he  felt 
himself  very  much  alone  under  what  he  thought 
must  be  the  derisive  eyes  of  all  the  rest.  The 
game  ended  before  he  had  gained  the  turning 
stake. 

"Skunked,"  remarked  Morris  cheerfully. 

Gerald  said  nothing,  did  not  even  look;  but 
Bobby  liked  Morris's  comment  better  than 
Gerald's  assumed  indifference. 

"Let's  have  another  game  —  partners,"  sug 
gested  Gerald  to  Celia. 


HIDE  AND  COOP  71 

But  Bobby,  to  his  own  great  surprise,  found 
courage  to  speak  up. 

"Let's  not  play  croquet  any  more,"  said  he. 
"Let's  have  a  game  of  Hi-Spy." 

"It's   too   hot,"    interposed   Gerald   quickly. 

The  others  said  nothing,  but  with  the  child's 
keen  instinct  for  the  drama,  had  drawn  aside 
in  favour  of  the  principal  actors.  Gerald 
stood  by  the  stake,  leaning  indolently  on  his 
mallet,  his  long  black  lashes  down-cast  over 
the  dark  pallor  of  his  cheeks,  very  handsome, 
very  graceful.  Bobby  had  drawn  near  on 
Celia's  other  side.  The  comparison  showed 
all  his  freckles  and  the  unformed  homeliness 
of  his  rather  dumpy,  sturdy  figure;  it  showed 
also  the  honest  dull  red  of  his  cheeks  and  the 
clear  unfaltering  gray  of  his  eyes.  Celia, 
between  them,  looked  down,  tapping  her  croquet 
ball  with  the  tip  of  her  shoe. 

"I  don't  think  it's  very  hot,"  she  said  at  last, 
looking  up.  "Let's  play  Hi-Spy." 

A  wave  of  glowing  triumph  rushed  through 
Bobby's  soul.  Gerald  merely  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

But  unmixed  joy  was  to  be  a  short-lived 
emotion  with  Bobby  as  far  as  Celia  was  con 
cerned.  He  knew  lots  of  fine  hiding-places 


72  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

about  the  grounds  of  the  Ottawa,  and  he  prom 
ised  himself  that  he  would  take  Celia  to  them. 
They  could  hide  together;  and  that  would  be 
delightful. 

Morris  counted  out  first  to  be  "it."  He 
leaned  his  arm  against  a  post,  his  head  against 
his  arm,  and  closed  his  eyes. 

"Ten-ten-double-ten-forty-five-fifteen"  he  re 
peated  over  ten  times  as  rapidly  as  possible. 
That  was  his  way  of  counting  a  thousand. 

The  other  children  scurried  off  as  fast  as  their 
legs  could  carry  them  in  order  to  reach  conceal 
ment  before  the  end  of  the  count.  And  some 
how,  against  his  will,  Bobby  found  himself  cast 
in  the  hurry  of  the  moment  with  Kitty  instead 
of  with  Celia.  And  Celia  he  saw  disappear  in 
Gerald's  convoy. 

' '  Coming ! ' '  roared  Morris,  uncovering  his  eyes. 

"  Oh  dear,  he's  coming!"  cried  Kitty  in  distress, 
"and  we're  not  hid!  Where  shall  we  go? 
Don't  you  know  any  good  places?" 

But  Bobby,  still  confused  over  his  disappoint 
ment,  had  not  the  wits  wherewith  to  think  in 
so  pressing  an  emergency.  He  vacillated  be 
tween  pillar  and  post;  and  so  was  espied  by  the 
goal-keeper.  Morris  immediately  set  himself 
in  rapid  motion  for  the  "home." 


HIDE  AND   COOP  73 

"One,  two,  three  for  Bobby  Orde!"  he  cried, 
striking  the  post  vigorously.  "One,  two,  three 
for  Kitty  Clark!" 

The  two  reluctantly  appeared. 

"There,  now,  you  got  us  caught,"  accused 
Kitty  sulkily. 

"Never  mind,"  consoled  Bobby,  "anyway  he 
saw  me  first.  I'm  it!" 

Morris  was  off  prowling  after  more  prey. 
As  he  disappeared  around  the  corner  of  the 
building  a  rapid  flash  of  skirts  was  visible  from 
the  other.  Morris  caught  it;  and,  turning, 
raced  with  all  his  might  back  to  the  home  goal. 
But  Margaret  had  too  good  a  head  start.  She 
arrived  first;  and  immediately  began  to  dance 
around  and  around,  her  long  legs  twinkling, 
her  two  thick  braids  flying. 

"In  free!  In  free!"  she  shrieked  over  and 
over  again. 

There  still  remained  Celia  and  Gerald. 
Morris  set  himself  very  carefully  to  find  them, 
prowling  into  all  likely  places,  but  returning 
abruptly  every  moment  or  so  in  order  to  fore 
stall  or  discourage  attempts  to  get  in.  He 
proved  unsuccessful;  nor  did  his  absence  seem 
to  afford  the  others  chances  to  run  home.  The 
other  three  watched  with  growing  impatience. 


74  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Oh,  Morris,  let  them  in!"  begged  Kitty. 
Bobby  felt  a  glow  of  kindliness  toward  her  for 
making  the  suggestion.  He  would  not  have 
proffered  it  himself  for  worlds.  Morris,  however, 
was  obstinate.  He  continued  his  search  for 
at  least  ten  minutes.  At  last  he  had  to  give  in. 

"All  sorts  in  free!"  he  called  at  the  top  of  his 
voice. 

Celia  and  Gerald  appeared  smiling  and 
unruffled.  They  refused  to  divulge  their  hiding- 
place. 

"We'll  save  it  until  next  time,"  said  Celia. 

Bobby  blinded  his  eyes  and  counted.  He 
had  no  interest  in  the  game,  and  experienced 
inside  himself  a  half-sick,  hollow  feeling  unique 
in  his  experience.  Morris,  Kitty  and  Margaret 
got  in  free,  simply  because  his  attention  was  too 
lax.  Gerald  and  Celia  had  once  more  disap 
peared.  After  a  decent  interval  the  others 
became  clamorous  again  for  general  amnesty. 

"Blind  again,  Bobby,"  they  urged,  "let  them 
in  free." 

But  Bobby  continued  to  search  beyond  the 
places  he  had  already  looked.  His  further 
knowledge  of  the  hotel  grounds  was  a  negligible 
quantity;  so  he  began,  consistently  to  eliminate 
all  possibilities.  From  one  corner  he  zigzagged 


HIDE   AND   COOP  75 

back  and  forth,  testing  every  nook  and  cranny 
that  might  contain  a  human  being.  Thus  he 
examined  every  foot  of  the  place;  but  without 
results.  He  was  puzzled;  but  he  would  not 
give  up.  Methodically,  and  to  the  vast  disgust 
of  the  others,  he  began  over  again  at  the  corner 
from  which  he  had  started.  No  results. 

"No  fair  outside  the  grounds!"  he  shouted. 
To  this  of  course,  no  answer  came. 

"Give  it  up!"  urged  the  others. 

"I  won't!"  insisted  Bobby  doggedly. 

He  did  not  know  where  to  search  next,  so 
he  looked  up.  The  hotel  was  provided  with  a 
broad  shady  flat-roofed  verandah.  At  the  edge 
of  this  roof,  projecting  the  least  bit  above,  Bobby 
glimpsed  a  fold  of  blue.  The  pair  were  evi 
dently  lying  at  full  length  in  the  spacious  water 
gutter.  The  blue  could  be  nothing  but  the 
gingham  of  Celia's  dress.  Nevertheless  Bobby 
walked  to  goal  and  calmly  announced. 

"One,  two,  three  for  Gerald  —  on  the  veran 
dah  roof!"  And  then,  after  a  deliberate  pause, 
"All  sorts  in  free!" 

Gerald  blinded.  Bobby,  with  determination, 
took  Celia's  hand,  and  breathlessly  the  pair  sped 
away.  The  little  boy's  first  move  was  to  place 
the  hotel  building  between  himself  and  Gerald. 


76  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"  Can  you  climb  a  fence  ?"  he  asked  hurriedly. 

"If  it  isn't  too  high." 

"Come  on  then,  I  know  a  dandy  place." 

Bobby  attacked  the  board  fence  behind  the 
hotel.  Two  packing-boxes  of  different  heights 
made  the  problem  of  ascent  easy.  But  the 
other  side  was  a  sheer  drop;  and  Celia  was 
afraid. 

"I  can't!"  she  cried.     "It's  too  far!" 

"Just  drop,"  advised  Bobby  desperately. 
"Hurry  up!  He'll  be  around  the  corner!" 

"I  daren't!"  cried  poor  Celia.  "You  go 
first," 

Promptly  Bobby  dangled;  and  dropped. 

"See;  it's  easy.     Come  on,  I'll  catch  you!" 

Finally  Celia  wiggled  over  the  edge,  shut  her 
eyes,  and  let  go.  She  landed  directly  on  Bobby, 
and  the  two  went  down  in  a  heap. 

"Come  on!"  whispered  Bobby.     "Scoot!" 

Before  them  rose  a  whitewashed  barn. 
Celia's  hand  in  his,  Bobby  darted  in  at  the  open 
doorway,  and  more  by  instinct  than  by  sight, 
found  a  rickety  steep  flight  of  stairs  and  ascended 
to  the  hay-mow. 

"There,  isn't  that  great?"  he  whispered. 

They  sank  back  on  the  soft  fragrant  hay, 
and  breathed  luxuriously  after  the  haste  of 


HIDE  AND  COOP  77 

the  last  few  moments.  A  score  of  mice  had 
scurried  away  at  their  abrupt  entrance;  and 
the  fairy-like  echoes  of  these  animals'  tiny 
feet  seemed  to  linger  in  the  twilight.  Through 
cracks  long  pencils  of  sunlight  lay  across  the 
hay  and  the  dim  criss-cross  of  the  rafters  above. 
Dust  motes  crossed  them  in  lazy  eddies,  each 
visible  for  a  golden  moment  as  it  entered  the 
glow  of  its  brief  importance,  only  to  be  blotted 
into  invisibility  as  it  passed. 

"Is  this  a  fair  hide?"  whispered  Celia. 
"This  is  outside  the  grounds." 

"It's  the  hotel  barn,"  replied  Bobby.  "I  bet 
he  doesn't  find  us  here." 

They  fell  silent,  because  they  were  hiding, 
and  in  that  silence  they  unconsciously  drew 
nearer  to  each  other.  The  delicious  aroma 
of  the  hay  overcame  their  spirits  with  a  drowsi 
ness.  New  sensations  thronged  on  Bobby's 
spirit,  made  receptive  by  the  narcotic  influences 
of  the  tepid  air,  the  mysterious  dimness,  the 
wands  of  gold,  the  floating  brief  dust-motes. 
He  wanted  to  touch  Celia;  and  he  found  himself 
diffident.  He  wanted  to  hear  her  voice;  and 
he  suddenly  discovered  in  himself  an  embarrass 
ment  in  addressing  her  which  was  causeless 
and  foolish.  He  wanted  to  look  at  her;  and  he 


78  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

did  so;  but  it  was  not  frankly  and  openly,  as 
he  had  always  looked  at  people  before.  His 
shy  side-glances  delighted  in  the  clear  curve  of 
her  cheeks;  the  soft  wheat-colour  of  her  curls; 
the  dense  black  of  her  half-closed  eyes;  the  brown 
of  her  complexion;  the  sweet  cleanliness  of  her. 
A  faint  warm  fragrance  emanated  from  her. 
Bobby's  heart  leaped  and  stood  still.  All  at 
once  he  knew  what  was  the  matter.  It  is  a 
mistake  to  imagine  that  children  do  not  recognize 
love  when  it  comes  to  them.  Love  requires 
no  announcement,  no  definition,  no  description. 
Only  in  later  years  when  the  first  fresh  purity 
of  the  heart  has  gone,  we  may  perhaps  require 
of  him  an  introduction. 

At  once  Bobby  felt  swelling  within  his  breast 
a  great  longing,  a  hunger  which  filled  his  throat, 
a  yearning  that  made  him  faint.  For  what? 
Who  can  tell.  The  idea  of  possession  was 
still  years  distant;  the  thought  of  a  caress  had  not 
yet  come  to  him;  the  bare  notion  that  Celia 
could  care  for  him  had  not  as  yet  unfolded  its 
dazzling  wings;  even  the  desire  to  tell  her  was 
not  yet  born.  Probably  at  no  other  period  of 
a  human  being's  life  is  the  passion  of  love  so 
pure,  so  divorced  from  all  considerations  of 
*aaterial,  or  of  self,  so  shiningly  its  ethereal 


HIDE  AND  COOP  79 

spiritual  soul.  Yet  love  it  is;  such  love  as  the 
grown  man  feels  for  his  mate;  with  all  the  great 
inner  breathless  longings  of  the  highest 
passion. 

The  two  lay  curled  side  by  side  in  their  nests 
of  hay.  Time  passed,  but  they  did  not  know 
of  it.  The  little  boy  was  drowned  in  the  depths 
of  this  new  thing  that  had  come  to  him.  Celia 
filled  the  world  to  him.  His  reverie  brimmed 
with  her.  Yet  somehow  also  there  came  to 
him  other  things,  unsought,  and  floated  about 
him,  and  became  more  fully  part  of  him  than  they 
had  ever  been  before.  It  was  an  incongruous 
assortment;  some  of  the  knights  of  Sir  Malory; 
the  River  above  the  booms,  with  the  brown  logs; 
a  plume  of  white  steam  against  the  dazzling 
blue  sky;  the  mellow  six-o'clock  church  bell  to 
which  he  arose  every  morning;  the  snake-fence 
by  the  sandhill  as  it  was  in  winter,  with  the 
wreaths  of  snow;  and  all  through  everything 
the  feel  of  the  woods  he  had  seen  at  the  picnic, 
their  canopy  of  green  so  far  above,  their  splashes 
of  sunlight  through  the  rifts,  the  friendly  summer 
warmth  of  their  air,  their  hot,  spicy  wood- 
smells  wandering  to  and  fro;  their  tall  trunks, 
their  undergrowth,  with  the  green  tunnels  far 
through  them,  the  flashes  of  their  birds'  wings, 


80  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

their  green  transparent  shadows.  These  came 
to  him,  vaguely,  and  their  existence  seemed 
explained.  They  were  because  Celia  was.  And 
so,  in  the  musty  loft  of  an  ill-kept  stable,  Bobby 
entered  another  portion  of  the  beautiful  heritage 
that  was  some  day  to  be  his. 


IV 

THE    PRINTING    PRESS 

Next  week  was  Bobby's  birthday.  He  received 
many  gifts,  but  as  usual,  saved  the  biggest 
package  until  the  last.  It  had  come  wrapped 
in  stout  manila  paper,  tied  with  a  heavy  cord, 
and  ornamented  with  the  red  sticker  and  seals 
of  the  Express  Company.  With  some  impor 
tance  Bobby  opened  his  new  knife  and  cut  the 
string.  The  removal  of  the  wrapper  disclosed  a 
light  wooden  box.  This  was  filled  with  excel 
sior,  which  in  turn  enclosed  a  paper  parcel.  A 
card  read: 

"For  Bobby  on  his  eleventh  birthday,  from 
Grandpa  and  Grandma." 

Wrought  to  trembling  eagerness  by  the  con 
tinued  delays,  Bobby  tore  off  the  paper.  Within 
was  a  small  toy  cast-iron  printing  press.  Its 
ink-plate  was  flat  and  stationary.  Its  chase 
held  two  wooden  grooves  into  which  the  type 
could  be  clamped  by  means  of  end  screws. 
The  mechanism  was  worked  by  a  small  square 

81 


"82  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

lever  at  the  back.  Bobby  opened  a  red  paste 
board  box  to  discover  a  miniature  font  of  Old 
English  type;  a  round  tin  box  to  uncover  sticky 
but  delicious-smelling  printer's  ink;  a  package 
to  reveal  the  ink-roller  and  a  parcel  to  complete 
the  outfit  with  a  pack  of  cheap  pasteboard 
cards. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?"  cried  Mrs. 
Orde. 

"Now  you'll  be  able  to  go  into  business, 
won't  you?"  said  his  father.  "You  might 
make  me  twenty-five  calling  cards  for  a  starter." 
Immediately  breakfast  was  finished,  then 
Bobby  took  his  printing  press  upstairs  and 
installed  it  on  his  little  table.  He  would  have 
liked  very  much  to  show  Celia  his  gifts,  but 
this  Mrs.  Orde  peremptorily  forbade. 

After  some  manipulation  he  loosened  the 
chase  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  Then  he  began 
to  pick  out  the  necessary  type  and  arrange  it 
in  the  upper  grove  to  spell  his  father's  name. 
The  replacement  of  the  chase  was  easy  after 
his  experience  in  taking  it  out.  Ink  he  smeared 
on  the  top  plate,  according  to  directions,  rolling 
it  back  and  forth  with  the  composition  roller 
until  it  was  evenly  distributed.  Nothing 
remained  now  but  to  adjust  the  guides  which 


THE  PRINTING  PRESS  83 

would  hold  the  cards  on  the  tympan.  Bobby 
passed  the  inked  roller  evenly  back  and  forth 
across  the  face  of  the  type,  inserted  a  card  and 
bore  down  confidently  on  the  lever.  He  con 
templated  this  result: 


Besides  the  transpositions  and  inversions, 
the  impression  itself  was  blurred  and  imperfect 
and  smeared  with  ink. 

After  the  first  gasp  of  dismay,  Bobby  set  to 
work  in  the  dogged  analytical  mood  which 
difficulties  already  aroused  in  him.  The  remedy 
for  the  inversion  was  plain  enough.  Bobby 
changed  the  type  end  for  end  and  turned  the  R 
and  the  E  right  side  up,  but  he  worked  slower 
and  slower  and  his  brow  was  wrinkled.  Sud 
denly  it  cleared. 

"Oh,  I  know!"  said  he  aloud.  "It's  just 
like  the  looking-glass!" 

Satisfied  on  this  point,  he  finished  the  resetting 
quickly  and  tried  again.  This  time  the  name 
read  correctly  but  it  slanted  down  the  card  and 
was  blurred  and  inky.  Bobby  fussed  for  a 
long  time  to  get  the  line  straight.  Experiment 
seemed  only  to  approximate.  One  end  per 
sisted  in  rising  too  high  or  sinking  too  low. 


84  THE  ADVENTURES  OP  BOBBY  ORDE 

The  problem  was  absorbing  and  all  the  time 
Bobby  was  thinking  busily  along,  to  him, 
original  lines.  At  last,  by  means  of  a  strip  of 
paper  and  a  pencil  he  measured  equidistants 
from  top  and  bottom  of  the  platen,  adjusted 
the  guides  in  accordance  and  so  that  problem 
was  solved.  Bobby,  flushed  and  triumphant, 
addressed  himself  to  remedying  the  blurring. 

"Too  much  ink,"  said  he. 

Obviously  the  way  to  remedy  too  much  ink 
was  to  rub  some  of  it  off  and  the  directest  means 
to  that  end  was  the  ever-useful  pocket  handker 
chief.  The  paste  proved  very  sticky  and  the 
handkerchief  was  effective  only  at  the  expense 
of  great  labour.  Bobby  ruined  three  more 
cards  before  he  established  the  principle  that 
superfluous  ink  must  be  removed  not  only  from 
the  plate  but  from  the  roller  and  type  as 
well. 

But  now  further  difficulties  intervened  before 
perfection.  Some  of  the  letters  printed  heavily 
and  some  scarcely  showed  at  all.  Here  Bobby 
entered  the  realm  of  experiments  which  could 
not  be  lightly  solved  in  the  course  of  a  half 
hour.  He  tried  raising  the  type  to  a  common 
level  and  locking  them  as  tightly  as  possible, 
but  always  they  slipped.  He  attempted  to 


THE  PRINTING  PRESS  85 

insert  bits  of  paper  under  what  proved  to  be 
the  shorter  types.  This  improved  the  results 
somewhat,  but  was  nevertheless  far  from  satis 
factory.  By  now  he  had  learned  not  to  use  a 
fresh  card  every  time.  The  first  half-dozen 
were  printed  back  and  forth,  front  and  behind. 
Bobby  was  smeared  with  more  ink  than  the 
printing  press.  Scissors,  pencils,  paper,  used 
cards  and  type  were  scattered  everywhere. 
All  the  time  his  fingers  were  working  his  brain, 
too,  was  busy,  searching  back  from  the  result 
to  the  cause,  seeking  the  requisite  modification. 
Mr.  Orde,  returning  at  noon,  burst  out  laughing 
at  the  sight. 

"  Well,  youngster,"  said  he,  "how  do  you  like 
being  a  printer  ?" 

"Oh  Bobby!"  cried  Mrs.  Orde  behind  him. 
"You  are  a  sight!  Don't  you  know  it's  time 
to  get  ready  for  lunch?" 

Bobby  looked  up  in  bewildered  surprise. 
Lunch !  Why  he  had  hardly  begun !  His  father 
was  chuckling  at  him. 

"Benzine  will  take  it  off,"  said  Mr.  Orde  to 
his  wife. 

Bobby  caught  at  the  hint. 

"Will  benzine  take  off  the  ink?"  he  cried 
eagerly. 


86  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

44 It's  supposed  to,"  replied  his  father;  "but  in 
your  case " 

"Can  I  have  a  little,  in  a  bottle,  and  a  tooth 
brush?"  begged  Bobby.  He  saw  in  a  flash  the 
solution  of  the  ink  problem. 

"We'll  see,"  said  Mrs.  Orde.  "Come  with 
me,  now." 

They  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the 
bathroom.  Mr.  Orde  examined  the  cards  with 
some  amusement. 

"Well,  sonny,"  said  he  to  Bobby  at  lunch. 
"The  printing  doesn't  seem  to  be  a  howling 
success.  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Bobby;  "but  I'll 
fix  it  all  right  yet." 

Bobby  was  busy  with  his  birthday  party  all 
that  afternoon,  but  next  morning  he  was  afoot 
even  before  the  Catholic  Church  bell  called  him. 
The  press  occupied  him  until  breakfast  time, 
but  he  made  small  progress.  His  father's 
morning  paper  filled  him  with  envy  by  reason 
of  its  clear  impression.  After  breakfast  he 
begged  a  tiny  bottle  of  benzine  and  an  old 
toothbrush  from  his  mother,  and  went  at  it 
again  for  nearly  an  hour.  The  benzine  worked 
like  a  charm.  The  type  came  out  bright  as 
new  and  the  old  ink  dissolved  readily  from  the 


THE  PRINTING  PRESS  87 

platen  and  roller.  Bobby  took  note  that  he 
should  have  cleared  them  the  day  before,  as  a 
night's  neglect  had  left  them  sticky.  With 
it  all  he  seemed  to  have  arrived  at  a  dead  wall. 
All  his  limited  mechanical  ingenuity  was 
exhausted  and  still  the  letters  printed  either  too 
deep  or  too  light.  About  half-past  nine  he 
cleaned  up  and  went  down  to  the  Ottawa. 

His  friends  there  were  all  sitting  under  the 
trees  before  the  hotel,  resting  rather  vacantly 
after  a  hard  romp.  Celia  perched  high  on  a 
root,  her  curls  against  the  brown  bark,  her  hat 
dangling  by  its  elastic  from  a  forefinger,  her  lips 
parted,  her  eyes  vacant.  Gerald  leaned  grace 
fully  against  the  trunk.  Bobby  sat  cross-legged 
on  the  ground  watching  her  —  and  him.  Kitty 
and  Margaret  reclined  flat  on  their  backs, 
gazing  up  through  the  leaves.  Morris  alone 
showed  a  trace  of  activity.  He  had  fished  from 
his  pockets  the  short,  blunt  stub  of  a  pencil, 
a  penny  and  a  piece  of  tissue  paper.  The 
latter  he  had  superimposed  over  the  penny  and 
by  rubbing  with  the  pencil  was  engaged  in 
making  a  tracing  of  the  pattern  on  the  coin. 
Through  his  preoccupation  Bobby  at  last  became 
cognizant  of  this  process.  He  sat  and  watched 
it  with  increasing  interest. 


88  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"By  Jiminy!"  he  shouted  leaping  to  his 
feet.  " 

"What  is  it?"  they  cried,  startled  by  the 
abrupt  movement. 

"I  got  to  go  home,"  said  Bobby. 

They  expostulated  vehemently,  for  his  depart 
ure  spoiled  the  even  number  for  a  game.  But 
he  would  not  listen,  even  to  Celia's  reproachful 
voice. 

"I'll  be  back  after  lunch,"  he  called,  and 
departed  rapidly.  Duke  arose  from  his  warm 
corner,  stretched  deliberately,  yawned,  glanced 
at  the  children,  half  wagged  his  tail  and  finally 
trotted  after. 

Bobby  rushed  home  as  fast  as  he  could; 
broke  into  the  house  like  a  whirlwind;  tore 
upstairs  and,  breathless  with  speed  and  the 
excitement  of  a  new  idea,  flung  himself  into  the 
chair  before  his  little  table.  He  had  seen  the 
solution.  To  the  flash  of  embryonic  creative 
instinct  vouchsafed  him,  Morris's  penny  had 
represented  type,  the  inequalities  of  its  design 
were  the  inequalities  of  alignment  over  which 
he  had  struggled  so  long  and  the  pressure  of  the 
pencil  and  tissue  paper  paralleled  the  imposition 
of  the  card  on  the  letters.  But  in  the  case  of 
Morris's  penny  the  type  did  not  conform  to  the 


THE  PRINTING  PRESS  89 

paper  and  the  pressure,  the  paper  conformed  to 
the  type. 

His  brain  afire  with  eagerness,  Bobby  first 
stretched  several  clean  sheets  of  paper  over  the 
platen  and  clamped  them  down;  then  he  inked 
the  type  and  pressed  down  the  lever.  Thus 
he  gained  an  impression  on  the  platen  itself. 
At  this  point  he  hesitated.  On  his  father's 
desk  down  stairs  was  mucilage,  but  mucilage 
was  strictly  forbidden.  The  hesitation  was 
but  momentary,  however,  for  the  creative  spirit 
in  full  blast  does  not  recognize  ordinary  restric 
tions.  With  his  own  round-pointed  scissors  he 
cut  out  little  squares  of  paper.  These  he  pasted 
on  the  platen  over  the  letters  whose  impression 
had  been  too  faint.  A  few  moments  adjusted 
the  guides.  Bobby  inked  the  type  and  inserted 
a  fresh  card.  The  moment  of  test  was  at  hand. 

He  paused  and  drew  a  long  breath.  From 
one  point  of  view  the  matter  was  a  small  one. 
From  another  it  was  of  the  exact  importance  of 
a  little  boy's  development,  for  it  represented  the 
first  fruits  of  all  the  hereditary  influences  that 
had  silently  and  through  the  small  experiences 
of  babyhood,  led  him  over  the  edge  of  the  dark, 
warm  nest  to  this  first  independent  trial  of  the 
wings.  He  pressed  the  lever  gently  and  took 


90  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

out  the  card.  It  was  not  a  very  good  job  of 
printing;  the  ink  was  not  quite  evenly  distributed, 
the  type  were  so  heavily  impressed  that  they 
showed  through  the  reverse  of  the  card  like 
stamping;  but  each  letter  had  evidently  received 
the  same  amount  of  pressure! 

Bobby  uttered  a  little  chuckle  of  joy  —  he 
had  not  time  for  more  —  and  plunged  into  the 
rectification  of  minor  errors.  And  by  noon  the 
press  was  working  steadily,  though  slowly, 
and  a  very  neat  array  of  Mr.  John  Ordes  was 
spread  out  on  the  window  drying. 

The  game  was  absorbing.  Bobby  brushed  his 
type  with  the  benzine  and  toothbrush;  dis 
tributed  it  and  set  up  another  name  —  Miss 
Celia  Carleton.  He  had  printed  nearly  a  dozen 
of  these  when  his  mother's  voice  behind  him 
interrupted  his  labours. 

"Robert,"  said  the  voice  sternly,  "what  ar« 
you  doing  with  that  mucilage?" 


THE    LITTLE    GIRL 

Bobby  spent  as  much  time  with  Celia  as  he 
was  allowed.  On  Sunday  he  took  her  on  his 
regular  excursion  to  Auntie  Kate  —  and  Auntie 
Kate's  cookies. 

"  Aren't  you  glad  there  was  no  Sunday  School 
to-day?"  he  inquired  blithely. 

"I  like  Sunday  School,"  stated  Celia. 

Bobby  stopped  short  and  looked  at 
her. 

"Do  you  like  church  too?"    he  demanded. 

"I  love  it,"  she  said. 

"Do  you  like  pollywogs?" 

"Ugh,  No!" 

"Or  stripy  snakes?" 

"They're  horrid!" 

"Or  forts?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Or  rifles  an'  revolvers?" 

"I  am  afraid  of  them." 

"Or  dogs?" 


92  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"I  love  dogs.  I've  got  one  home.  His 
name  is  Pancho," 

*  What  kind  is  he  ?"  asked  Bobby  with  a  vast 
sigh  of  relief  at  finding  a  common  ground.  He 
had  been  brought  to  realize  yesterday  that 
little  girls  differ  from  boys;  but  for  a  few  dread 
ful,  floundering  moments  this  morning  he  had 
feared  they  might,  so  to  speak,  belong  to  a 
different  race.  Afterward  he  realized  that  it 
would  not  have  mattered  even  if  she  had  not 
liked  dogs.  He  merely  wished  to  be  near  her. 
When  he  left  her  he  immediately  experienced 
the  strongest  longing  to  be  again  where  he 
could  see  her,  and  breathe  the  deep,  intoxicating, 
delicious,  clean  influence  of  her  near  presence. 
And  yet  with  her  his  moments  of  unalloyed 
happiness  were  few  and  his  hours  of  sheer 
misery  were  many.  Self-consciousness  had  never 
troubled  Bobby  before;  but  now  in  the  presence 
of  Gerald's  slim  elegance  and  easy,  languid 
manner,  he  became  acutely  aware  of  his  own 
deficiencies.  His  clothes  seemed  coarser;  his 
hands  and  feet  were  awkward;  his  body  dum 
pier;  his  face  rounder  and  more  freckled^ 
To  him  was  born  a  great  humility  of  spirit  to 
match  the  great  longing  of  it. 

Nevertheless,  as  has  been  said,  he  and  Duke 


THE  LITTLE   GIRL  93 

trudged  down  to  the  Ottawa  every  morning, 
and  again  every  afternoon,  or  as  many  of  them 
as  Mrs.  Orde  permitted.  He  was  content  to 
come  under  the  immediate  spell  of  the  dancing, 
sprite-like,  sunny  little  girl.  No  thought  of 
the  especial  effort  to  please,  called  courtship, 
entered  his  young  head.  He  played  with  the 
children,  and  kept  as  close  to  Her  as  possible; 
that  was  all.  And  one  evening,  trudging  home 
dangerously  near  six  o'clock,  he  ran  slap  against 
the  legend  chalked  in  huge  letters  on  a  board 
fence : 

CELIA   CARLETON    and    BOBBY   ORDE 

He  stopped  short,  his  heart  jumping  wildly. 
Often  had  he  seen  this  coupling  of  names, 
other  names;  and  he  knew  that  it  was  considered 
a  little  of  a  shame,  and  somewhat  of  a  glory. 
The  sight  confused  him  to  the  depths  of  his 
soul;  and  yet  it  also  pleased  him.  He  rubbed 
out  the  letters;  but  he  walked  on  with  new 
elation.  The  undesired  but  authoritative  sanc 
tion  of  public  recognition  had  been  given  his 
devotion.  Gerald  was  not  considered.  Some 
body  Lad  observed;  so  the  affair  must  be 
noticeable  to  others.  And  with  another  tre- 


94  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

mendous  leap  of  the  heart  Bobby  welcomed 
the  daring  syllogism  that,  since  the  somebody 
of  the  impertinent  chalk  had  fathomed  his 
devotion  to  her,  might  it  not  be  possible,  oh, 
remotely  inconceivably  possible,  of  course,  that 
the  unknown  had  equally  marked  some  slight 
interest  on  her  part  for  him  ?  The  board  fence, 
the  maple-shaded  walk,  the  soft  brown  street 
of  pulverized  shingles,  all  faded  in  the  rapt 
glory  of  this  vision.  Bobby  gasped.  Literally 
it  had  not  occurred  to  him  before.  Now  all  at 
once  he  desired  it,  desired  it  not  merely  with 
every  power  of  his  child  nature,  but  with  the 
full  strength  of  the  man's  soul  that  waited  but 
the  passing  of  years  to  spread  wide  its  pinions. 
The  need  of  her  answer  to  his  love  shook  him 
to  the  depths,  for  it  reached  forward  and  back 
in  his  world-experience,  calling  into  vague, 
drowsy,  fluttering  response  things  that  would 
later  awaken  to  full  life,  and  reanimating  the 
dim  and  beautiful  instincts  that  are  an  heritage 
of  that  time  when  the  soul  is  passing  the  lethe 
of  earliest  childhood  and  retains  still  a  wavering 
iridescence  of  the  glory  from  which  it  has  come. 
The  question  rose  to  his  lips  ready  for  the  asking. 
He  wanted  to  turn  track  on  the  instant,  t^  call  for 
Celia,  to  demand  of  her  the  response  to  his  love. 


THE  LITTLE   GIRL  95 

And  then,  after  the  moment  of  exaltation, 
came  the  reaction.  He  was  afraid.  The 
thought  of  his  stubby  uninteresting  figure  came 
to  him;  and  a  deep  sense  of  his  unworthiness. 
What  could  she,  accustomed  to  brilliant  crea 
tures  of  the  wonderful  city,  of  whom  Gerald 
was  probably  but  a  mild  sample,  find  in 
commonplace  little  Bobby  Orde  ?  He  walked 
meekly  home;  and  took  a  scolding  for  being  late. 

Nevertheless  the  idea  persisted  and  grew. 
It  came  to  the  point  of  rehearsal.  Before  he 
fell  asleep  that  very  night,  Bobby  had  ready 
cut  and  dried  a  half-dozen  different  ways  in 
which  to  ask  the  question,  and  twice  as  many 
methods  of  leading  up  to  it.  In  the  darkness, 
and  by  himself,  he  felt  very  bold  and  confident. 

The  next  morning,  however,  even  after  he 
had  succeeded  in  sequestrating  Celia  from  her 
companions,  he  found  it  impossible  to  approach 
the  subject.  The  bare  thought  of  it  threw 
him  to  the  devourings  of  a  panic  terror.  This 
new  necessity  tore  him  with  fresh  but  delicious 
pains.  He  felt  the  need  of  finding  out  whether 
she  cared  for  him  as  he  had  never  conceived 
a  need  could  exist;  yet  he  was  totally  unable 
to  satisfy  it.  By  comparison  the  former  misery 
of  jealousy  seemed  nothing.  Bobby  lived  con- 


96  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

stantly  in  this  high  breathless  state  of  delight 
in  Celia;  and  misery  in  the  condition  of  his 
love  for  her.  The  Fuller  boys  and  Angus  saw 
him  no  moie;  the  little  library  was  neglected; 
the  wood-box  half  the  time  forgotten;  and  the 
arithmetic,  always  a  source  of  trouble,  tangled 
itself  into  a  hopeless  snarl  of  which  Bobby's 
blurred  mental  vision  could  make  nothing. 

All   of  his   spare   time   he   spent   at  his   toy 

printing  press,  trying  over  and  over  for  a  perfect 

result  —  unblurred,  well-registered,  well  aligned 

— in  the  shape  of  calling  cards  for  "Miss  Celia 

Carleton." 

As  soon  as  they  were  done  to  his  satisfaction, 
he  wrapped  them  in  a  clumsy  package,  and  set 
out  for  the  Ottawa,  followed,  as  always,  by 
Duke. 

He   found   Celia   alone   in   a   rocking   chair. 

"Why  didn't  you  come  down  this  morning?" 
she  asked  him  at  once. 

Bobby  held  up  the  package  and  looked  mys 
terious. 

"This,"  said  he. 

"Oh!    what  is  it?"    she  cried,  jumping  up. 

"I  made  it,"  said  Bobby. 

"What  is  it?"    insisted  Celia.     "Show  it  to 


me." 


THE  LITTLE   GIRL  97 

But  Bobby  thrust  the  package  firmly  into  his 
pocket. 

"'Up  past  our  house  there's  a  fine  sand-hill 
to  slide  down,"  said  he,  "and  we  got  a  fine 
fort  over  the  hill,  and  I  know  where  there's  a 
place  you  can  climb  up  on  where  you  can  see 
'most  to  Redding." 

"Show  me  what  you've  got!"  pleaded  Celia. 

"I  will,"  Bobby  developed  his  plan,  "if  you'll 
come  up  and  play  in  the  fort." 

"All  right,"  agreed  Celia  in  a  breath;  "I'll 
tell  mamma  I'm  going.  And  I'll  hunt  up  the 
others." 

"I  don't  want  the  others  to  go,"  announced 
Bobby  boldly. 

She  calmed  to  a  great  stillness,  and  looked 
at  him  with  intent  eyes. 

"All  right,"  she  agreed  quietly  after  a  moment. 

They  walked  up  the  street  together,  followed 
by  the  solemn  black  and  white  dog.  The  shop 
windows  did  not  detain  them,  as  ordinarily. 
At  the  fire-engine  house  they  turned  under  the 
dense  shade  of  the  maples.  But  by  the  end  of 
the  second  block  said  Bobby: 

"We'll  go  this  way." 

He  was  afraid  of  encountering  Angus,  or 
perhaps  the  Fuller  boys. 


98  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

The  sand-hill  proved  toilsome  to  Celia,  but 
without  a  single  pause  she  struggled  bravely 
up  its  sliding,  cascading  yellow  surface  to  the 
top.  Then  she  stood  still,  panting  a  little,  her 
cheeks  flushed,  her  eyes  bright,  the  tiniest 
curls  about  her  forehead  wet  and  matted  with 
perspiration.  With  a  great  adoration,  Bobby 
looked  upon  her  slender  figure  held  straight 
against  the  blue  sky.  Almost  —  almost  dared 
he  speak.  At  least  that  is  what  he  thought 
until  the  words  rose  to  his  lips;  and  then  all 
at  once  he  realized  what  a  wide  gulf  lay  between 
the  imagined  and  the  spoken  word. 

"The  fort's  over  this  way,"  said  he  gruffly. 

"Show  me  the  package  first,"  insisted  Celia. 

Bobby  drew  out  the  cards,  and  thrust  them 
into  her  hands. 

"They're  for  you,"  he  said  hastily.  "I  did 
them  on  my  printing  press." 

Celia  was  delighted  and  wanted  to  say  so 
at  length,  but  Bobby  had  his  sex's  aversion  to 
spoken  gratitude. 

"Come  on,  see  the  fort,"  he  insisted. 

He  showed  her  the  elaborate  works  and 
explained  their  uses,  and  pointed  out  the  enemy 
of  stumps  charging  patiently.  Celia  caught 
fire  with  the  idea  at  once. 


ALMOST — ALMOST    DARED    HE   TO    SPEAK 


THE  LITTLE   GIRL  99 

"I'll  make  bullets  the  way  they  did  in  the 
Colonies!"  she  cried. 

"Have  you  'Old  Times  in  the  Colonies,' 
too?"  asked  Bobby  eagerly. 

They  seated  themselves  and  talked  of  their 
books.  Celia  was  just  beginning  the  Alcott 
series.  Bobby  had  never  heard  of  them,  and 
so  they  had  to  be  explained.  The  children 
had  romped  and  played  games  together;  but 
they  had  never  exchanged  such  ideas  as  their 
years  had  developed.  For  once  Bobby  forgot 
the  fact  of  his  love,  and  its  delicious  pains,  and 
its  need  for  something  which  he  could  not 
place,  in  the  unselfconscious  joy  of  intimate 
communion.  He  drew  close  to  Celia  in  spirit; 
and  his  whole  being  expanded  to  a  glow  that 
warmed  him  through  and  through.  The  west 
ering  sun  surprised  them  with  the  lateness  of 
the  hour.  At  the  hotel  gate  Celia  left  him, 

"My,  but  we  had  a  good  time!"    said  she. 

With  much  trepidation  Bobby  next  day  sug 
gested  in  face  of  the  whole  group  that  he  and 
Celia  should  climb  the  high  hill  from  which 
Bobby  fondly  believed  he  could  see  "'most  to 
Redding."  To  his  surprise,  and  to  the  surprise 
of  the  others,  Celia  consented  at  once.  They 
climbed  the  hill  in  short  stages,  resting  formally 


100  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

every  ten  feet.  Bobby  they  called  the  Guide; 
while  Celia  was  assigned  the  duty  of  announcing 
the  resting-places.  There  was  a  wood-road  up 
the  hill,  but  they  preferred  the  steep  side.  Trees 
shaded  it;  and  undergrowth  veiled  it.  Little 
open  spaces  were  guarded  mysteriously  and 
jealously  by  the  thickets;  little  hot  pockets 
held  like  cups  the  warmth  of  the  sun.  Birds 
flashed  and  disappeared;  squirrels  chattered 
indignantly;  chipmunks  scurried  away.  Occa 
sionally  they  came  to  dense  shade,  and  moss, 
and  black  shadow,  and  low  sweet  shrubs  a  few 
inches  high,  and  the  tinkle  of  a  tiny  streamlet. 
Once  a  tangle  of  raspberries  in  a  little  clearing 
fell  across  their  way.  Bobby  had  never  hap 
pened  on  these.  They  had  been  well  picked 
over  by  the  squaws,  who  sold  fruit  in  town  by 
the  pailful,  but  the  children  managed  to  find 
a  few  berries,  and  ate  them,  enjoying  their 
warm,  satiny  feel. 

Thus  they  climbed  for  a  long  time.  The 
rests  were  frequent,  the  course  not  of  the  straight- 
est.  For  many  years  their  recollection  of 
that  hill  was  as  of  a  mountain.  Finally  the 
top  sprang  at  them  abruptly,  as  though  in  joke. 

"Come  over  this  way,  I'll  show  you,"  said 
Bobbv- 


,         THE  LITTLE 

He  led  the  way  to  a  point  where  the  scant 
timber  had  in  times  past  suffered  a  windfall. 
Through  the  opening  thus  made  they  looked 
abroad  over  the  countryside.  They  could  see 
the  snake-fences  about  the  farms,  and  the  white 
dusty  road  like  a  ribbon  and  the  stumps  like 
black  dots,  and  the  waving  green  tops  of  the 
"wood  lots"  and  far  away  the  flash  of  the  River. 

Thus  Bobby  gained  another  of  his  great 
desires.  Celia  proved  strangely  acquiescent  to 
suggestions  for  these  excursions.  Gerald's 
dreaded  attractions  relaxed  their  power  over 
Bobby's  spirit;  and  in  corresponding  degree 
Bobby  regained  the  lost  captaincy  of  his  soul. 
The  self-confidence  which  he  lacked  seeped 
gradually  into  him;  and  he  began,  though  very 
tentatively,  to  recognize  and  respect  his  own 
value  as  an  individual.  These  are  big  words 
to  employ  over  the  small  problems  of  a  child; 
yet  in  the  child  alone  occur  those  silent  develop 
ments,  those  noiseless  changes  which  touch 
closest  to  true  abstraction.  Later  in  life  our 
processes  are  stiffened  by  the  material  into 
forms  of  greater  simplicity. 

They  explored  the  country  about;  and  what 
the  shortness  of  their  legs  denied  them  in 
the  matter  of  actual  distance,  the  large- 


102  THE  AOyBNTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

ness  of  their   children's   imaginations    lavished 
bounteously. 

Bobby  had  explored  most  of  it  all  before  — 
the  stump  pastures,  the  wood-lots,  the  hills, 
the  beach,  the  piers,  the  upper  shifting  downs 
of  sand  —  but  now  he  saw  them  for  the  first 
time  because  he  was  showing  them  to  Celia. 
One  day  they  made  their  way  under  tall  beech 
woods,  through  a  scrub  of  cedars,  and  found 
themselves  on  the  edge  of  low  bluffs  overlooking 
the  yellow  shore  and  the  blue  lake.  Long 
years  after  he  could  remember  it  vividly,  and 
all  the  little  details  that  belonged  to  it  —  the 
flash  of  the  waters,  the  dip  of  gulls,  the  gentle 
wash  of  the  quiet  wavelets  against  the  shore, 
the  thin  strip  of  dark  wet  sand  that  marked 
the  extent  of  their  influences,  and,  in  a  long 
curve  to  the  blue  of  distance,  the  uneven  waste 
of  the  yellow  dry  sand  on  which  lay  and  from 
which  projected  at  all  angles  countless  logs, 
slabs  and  timbers  cast  up  derelict  by  the  storms 
of  years.  But  at  the  time  he  was  not  conscious 
of  noticing  these  things.  In  the  darkness  of 
his  room  that  night  all  he  remembered  was 
Celia  standing  bright  and  fair  against  the 
shadow  of  ancient  twisted  cedars. 


VI 

THE    LITTLE    GIRL    (CONTINUED) 

Every  Saturday  evening  the  Hotel  Ottawa 
gave  a  hop  in  its  dining  room.  Mrs.  Carleton 
suggested  that  the  Ordes  dine  with  her,  and 
afterward  take  in  this  function.  The  hop 
proper  began  at  nine  o'clock;  but  the  floor  for 
an  hour  before  was  given  over  to  the  children. 
Mrs.  Orde  accepted. 

Promptly  at  half-past  six,  then,  they  all 
entered  the  dining  room.  Bobby,  living  in 
the  town,  had  never  taken  a  meal  there.  He 
saw  a  high-ceilinged,  large  room,  filled  with 
small,  square  and  round  tables  arranged  between 
numerous,  slender,  white  plaster  pillars.  At 
the  base  of  each  pillar  were  still  smaller  serving 
tables  each  supporting  a  metal  ice- water  pitcher. 
Two  swinging  doors  at  the  far  end  led  out. 
Tall  windows  looked  into  the  grounds  where 
the  children  had  been  in  the  habit  of  playing. 

People  were  scattered  here  and  there  eating. 
Statuesque  ladies  dressed  in  black,  with  white 

103 


104  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

aprons,  stood  about  or  sailed  here  and  there, 
bearing  aloft  in  marvellous  equilibrium  great 
flat  trays  piled  high  with  steaming  white  dishes. 
They  swung  corners  in  grand  free  sweeps,  the 
trays  tilted  far  sideways  to  balance  centrifugal 
force;  they  charged  the  swinging  doors  at  full 
speed,  and  when  Bobby  held  his  breath  in  anti 
cipation  of  the  crash,  something  deft  and 
mysterious  happened  at  the  hem  of  their  black 
skirts  and  the  doors  flew  open  as  though  com 
manded  by  a  magic  shibboleth.  They  were 
tall  and  short,  slender  and  stout,  dark  and 
light,  but  they  had  these  things  in  common  — 
they  all  dressed  in  black  and  white,  their  hair 
was  lofty  and  of  exaggerated  waterfall,  and 
their  expressions  never  altered  from  one  of 
lazy-eyed,  lofty,  scornful  ennui.  To  Bobby  they 
were  easily  the  leading  feature  of  the  meal. 

After  dinner  the  party  sat  on  the  verandah 
a  while,  the  elders  conversing;  the  children 
feeling  rather  dressed  up.  By  and  by  their 
other  playmates  joined  them.  The  lights  were 
lit,  and  shadows  descended  with  evening  cool 
ness.  From  within  came  the  sound  of  a  violin 
tuning. 

Immediately  all  ran  to  the  dining  room. 
The  tables  had  been  moved  to  one  end  where 


THE  LITTLE   GIRL  105 

they  were  piled  on  top  of  one  another;  the 
chairs  were  arranged  in  a  row  along  the  wall; 
the  floor,  newly  waxed,  shone  like  glass.  A 
small  upright  piano  manipulated  by  an  elderly 
female  in  glasses;  a  tremendous  bass  viol  in 
charge  of  a  small  man,  and  a  violin  played  by 
a  large  man  represented  the  orchestra. 

All  the  children  shouted,  and  began  to  slide 
on  the  slippery  floor.  Bobby  joined  this  game 
eagerly,  and  had  great  fun.  But  in  a  moment 
the  music  struck  up,  the  guests  of  the  hotel 
commenced  to  drift  in  and  the  romping  had 
to  cease. 

Gerald  offered  his  arm  to  Celia,  and  they 
swung  away  in  the  hopping  waltz  of  the  period. 
Other  children  paired  off.  Bobby  was  left 
alone. 

He  did  not  know  what  to  do,  so  he  sat  down 
in  one  of  the  chairs  ranged  along  the  wall. 
After  a  minute  or  so  Mrs.  Carleton  and  the  Ordes 
came  in.  Bobby  went  over  to  them. 

"Don't  you  dance,  Bobby?"  asked  Mrs. 
Carleton  kindly. 

"No,  ma'am,"  replied  Bobby  in  a  very  small 
voice. 

When  the  music  stopped,  the  children  gathered 
in  a  group  at  the  lower  end  of  the  hall.  Bobby 


106  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

joined  them;    but  somehow  even  then  he  felt 
out  of  it.     Celia's  cheeks  were  flushed  bright 
with    the    exercise    and    pleasure.     Her    spirits 
were    high.     She    laughed    and    chatted    with 
Gerald  vivaciously.     Poor  Bobby  she  included 
in  the  brightness  of  her  mood,   but  evidently 
only  because  he  happened  to  be  in  the  circle 
of  it.     She  was  sorry  he  did  not  dance;    but 
she  loved  it,  and  just  now  she  could  think  of 
nothing  else  but  the  enjoyment  of  it.     Bobby 
could  not  understand  that  there  was  nothing 
personal  in  this.     He  saw,  with  a  pang,  that 
Gerald   danced    supremely   well;     that    Morris 
romped    through    the    steps    with    a    cheerful 
hearty  abandon  not  without  its  attraction;  that 
Tad  Fuller,  who  had  come  in  with  his   mother 
and  his  brother,  and  half  a  dozen  others  whom 
Bobby  knew,  all  made  creditable  performers; 
that    even    Angus,    red-faced,    awkward,    per 
spiring  as  he  was,  could  yet  command  the  hand, 
time  and  attention  of  any  little  girl  he  might 
choose    to    favour.     He    himself    was    useless; 
and  therefore  ignored. 

At  the  end  of  the  children's  hour  he  said 
good  night  miserably,  and  trailed  along  home 
at  his  parents'  heels.  Ordinarily  he  liked  to 
be  out  after  dark.  The  stars  and  the  velvet 


THE  LITTLE   GIRL  107 

shadows  and  the  magic  transformations  which 
the  night  wrought  in  the  most  ordinary  and 
accustomed  things  attracted  him  strongly.  But 
now  he  was  too  conscious  of  a  smarting  spirit. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Orde  were  talking  busily  about 
something.  He  could  not  even  get  a  chance 
to  ask  a  question;  and  that  seemed  the  last 
straw.  His  lips  quivered,  and  he  had  to  remem 
ber  very  hard  that  he  was  not  a  little  girl  in  order 
to  keep  back  the  tears. 

Finally  the  talk  died. 

"Mamma,"  blurted  out  Bobby. 

"Yes?" 

"Can't  I  learn  how  to  dance?" 

The  pair  wheeled  arm  in  arm  and  surveyed 
him.  In  the  starlight  his  round  child  face 
showed  white  and  anxious. 

"Why,  of  course  you  can,  darling,"  replied 
Mrs.  Orde,  "Don't  you  remember  mamma 
wanted  you  to  go  to  dancing  school  last  winter, 
and  you  wouldn't  go?" 

"How  soon  does  dancing  school  open?" 
demanded  Bobby. 

"I  don't  know.  Not  much  before  Christmas, 
I  suppose." 

Having  thus  made  a  definite  resolution  to 
remedy  matters,  Bobby  felt  better,  even  though 


108  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

he  would  have  to  wait  another  year.  This 
recovery  of  spirit  was  completed  the  next  day. 
He  went  with  some  apprehension  to  ask  Celia 
to  walk  again.  She  had  seemed  to  him  so 
aloof  the  night  before,  that  he  could  hardly 
believe  her  unchanged.  However,  she  assented 
to  the  expedition  with  alacrity.  Hardly  had 
they  quitted  the  hotel  grounds  when  Bobby 
shot  his  question  at  her, 

" Celia,"  said  he,  "if  I  learn  how  to  dance 
this  winter  will  you  dance  with  me  when  you 
come  back  next  summer?" 

"Why  of  course,"  said  Celia. 

"  Will  you  dance  with  me  a  lot  ?" 

"Yes." 

'  Will  you  dance  with  me  more  than  you  do 
with  any  one  else?" 

Celia  pondered. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  slowly.  She  paused, 
her  eyes  vague.  "I  guess  so,"  she  added  at 
last. 

"Then  I'll  learn,"  said  Bobby. 

"It's  lots  of  fun,"  said  she. 

Bobby  trod  on  air.  Without  his  conscious 
intention  their  course  took  direction  to  the  river 
front.  They  walked  to  the  left  along  the  wide, 
artificial  bank  of  piling.  Beneath  them  the 


THE  LITTLE   GIRL  109 

water  swished  among  the  timbers.  On  one 
side  were  the  sand-hills,  on  the  other  the  blue, 
preoccupied  river.  Across  the  stream  was 
another  facade  of  piles,  unbroken  save  for  the 
little  boatslips  where  the  Life  Saving  men 
had  their  station.  A  strong  sweet  breeze  came 
from  the  Lake.  Far  down  ahead  they  could 
just  make  out  the  twin  piers  that,  jutting  into 
the  Lake,  continued  artificially  the  course  of 
the  river.  The  lighthouses  on  their  ends  were 
dwarfed  by  distance. 

By  and  by  Celia  tired  a  little,  so  they  sat  and 
dangled  their  feet  and  watched  the  tiny  scalloped 
blue  wavelets  dance  in  the  current.  A  passer 
by  stopped  a  moment  to  warn  them. 

"Look  out,  youngsters,  you  don't  fall  in," 
said  he. 

Bobby  still  exalted  with  the  favour  he  had 
been  vouchsafed,  looked  up  with  dignity. 

"/  am  taking  care  of  this  little  girl,"  he  said 
deliberately,  and  turned  his  back. 

The  man  chuckled  and  passed  on. 

For  a  long  time  they  sat  side  by  side  looking 
straight  out  before  them. 

"Celia,"  said  Bobby  without  turning  his 
head,  "I  love  you.  Do  you  love  me?" 

"Yes,"  said  Celia  steadily. 


110  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

Neither  stirred  by  so  much  as  a  hair's  breadth. 
After  a  little  they  arose  and  returned  to  the 
hotel.  Neither  spoke  again. 

Strangely  enough  the  subject  was  not  again 
referred  to,  although  of  course  the  children 
continued  to  play  together  and  the  excursions 
were  not  intermitted.  There  seemed  to  be 
nothing  to  say.  They  loved  each  other,  and  they 
were  glad  of  each  other's  nearness.  It  sufficed. 

Each  morning  Bobby  awoke  with  a  great 
uplift  of  the  spirit,  and  a  great  longing,  which 
was  completely  appeased  when  he  had  come 
into  Celia's  presence.  Each  evening  he  retired 
filled  with  an  impatience  for  the  coming  day, 
and  with  divine  rapture  of  little  memories  of 
what  had  that  day  passed.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  hour  by  hour  he  and  Celia  drew 
closer  in  a  sweet  secret,  intimacy  that  never 
theless  demanded  no  outer  symbol.  When  he 
spoke  to  her  of  the  simplest  things,  or  she  to 
him,  he  experienced  a  warm,  cosy  drawing 
near,  as  though  beneath  the  commonplace 
remark  lay  something  hidden  and  subtle  to 
which  each  must  bend  the  ear  of  the  spirit 
gently.  This  was  the  soul  of  it,  a  supreme 
inner  gentleness  one  to  the  other,  no  matter 
how  boisterous,  how  laughing,  how  brusque 


THE  LITTLE   GIRL  111 

might  be  the  spoken  word.  And  in  corres 
pondence  all  the  beautiful  sun-lit  summer 
world  took  on  a  new  softness  and  splendour 
and  glory  in  which  they  walked,  but  whose 
source  they  did  not  understand. 

This  much  for  the  essence  of  it.  But  of 
course,  Bobby,  being  masculine  must  give 
presents  after  his  own  notion,  and  being  a  small 
boy  must  give  them  according  to  his  age.  The 
quarter  he  had  earned  from  his  father  he  invested 
in  a  pack  of  cards  on  the  upper  left-hand  corner 
of  which  were  embossed  marvellous  doves, 
wonderful  flowers  and  miraculous  tangles  of 
scroll-work  in  colour.  These  he  printed  with 
Celia's  name  and  address.  Near  the  wharf 
and  railroad  station  stood  a  small  booth  from 
which  a  discouraged-looking  individual  tried 
to  sell  curios.  Bobby's  eye  fell  on  a  cheap 
bracelet  of  silver  wire  from  which  dangled 
half  a  dozen  moonstones.  It  caught  his  eye; 
day  by  day  his  desire  for  it  grew;  finally  he 
asked  advice  on  the  subject. 

"No,  Bobby,"  replied  his  mother,  "I  don't 
think  Celia  would  care  for  it.  It  is  cheap- 
looking.  She  has  several  very  pretty  bangles 
already;  and  this  is  not  a  good  one." 

Nevertheless,  Bobby,  being  as  we  have  said 


112  THE  ADVENTURES  OP  BOBBY  ORDE 

thoroughly  masculine,  deliberated  some  days 
further,  and  bought  it.  The  price  was  two 
dollars  —  an  almost  fabulous  sum.  Most  men 
give  their  wives  or  sweethearts  what  they  think 
they  would  like  themselves  were  they  women, 
and  were  a  man  to  offer  a  gift.  That  is  one 
reason  why  in  so  many  bureau  drawers  are 
tucked  away  unused  presents.  Young  as  she 
was,  Celia  had  the  taste  not  to  care  for  the 
moonstone  bangle,  but,  like  all  the  rest,  she 
accepted  it  with  genuine  delight  because  Bobby 
gave  it.  She  even  wore  it.  These  were  the 
principal  transactions  of  the  kind;  but  anything 
Bobby  particularly  fancied  he  brought  her. 
Shortly  she  became  possessed  of  a  bewildering 
collection  consisting  variously  of  large  glass 
marbles  with  a  twist  of  coloured  glass  inside; 
tvyo  or  three  lichi  nuts,  then  a  curiosity;  a  dried 
gull's  wing;  several  exploded  shotgun  shells; 
and  a  "real,"  though  broken-pointed  chisel. 
Celia  gave  Bobby  her  tiny  narrow  gold  ring 
with  two  little  turquoises.  He  could  just  get 
it  on  his  little  finger,  and  wore  it  proudly,  in 
spite  of  jeers.  Being  teased  about  Celia  was 
embarrassing  to  the  point  of  pain;  but  in  the 
last  analysis  it  was  not  unpleasant. 

So    matters    slipped   by.     Abruptly   the   end 


THE  LITTLE   GIRL  113 

of  August  came.     One  day  Bobby  found  Celia 
much  perturbed. 

"I  can't  go  out  long,"   she  said,   "I've  got 
to  help  mamma." 

"  What  doing  ?  "   asked  Bobby. 

But  Celia  shook  her  head  dolefully. 

"Come,    let's   go   walk   somewhere   and   I'll 
tell  you,"  said  she. 

They    crossed    Main    Street    to    the    shaded 
street  on  which  lived  Georgie  Cathcart. 

"What  is  it  ?  "  demanded  Bobby  again. 

"We    are    going    home    to-morrow,"    Celia 
announced  mournfully.    "  Mamma  has  a  letter." 

Bobby  stopped  short. 

"Going  home!"    he  echoed. 

"Yes,"  said  Celia. 

"Then    we    won't    see    each    other    till    next 
summer!"   he  cried. 

"No,"  said  she. 

"And  we  can't  walk  any  more  or  —  or - 
Bobby  felt  the  lump  rising  in  his  throat. 

"No,"  said  Celia. 

Bobby  swallowed  hard. 

"Are  —  are  you  sorry  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  replied  Celia  quietly.     "Are  you?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to  do!"    cried 
Bobby  desperatelv- 


114  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

After  a  little,  the  main  fact  of  the  catastrophe 
being  accepted,  they  talked  of  the  winter  to 
come. 

"You'll  write  me  some  letters,  won't  xrou3" 
pleaded  Bobby. 

"If  you  write  to  me." 

"Of  course  I  will  write  to  you.  And  you'll 
send  me  your  picture,  won't  you?  You  said 
you  would." 

"I  don't  believe  I  have  any,"  demurred 
Celia;  "and  mamma  has  them  all;  and  they're 
very  comspensive." 

"I'll  give  you  one  of  mine,"  offered  Bobby, 
"if  I  have  to  get  it  from  the  album.  Please, 
Celia." 

"I'll  see,"  said  she. 

They  were  moving  again  slowly  beneath 
the  trees. 

Bobby  looked  up  the  street;  he  looked  back. 
He  turned  swiftly  to  her. 

"Celia,"  he  asked,  "may  I  kiss  you?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Celia  steadily. 

She  stopped  short,  looking  straight  ahead. 
Bobby  leaned  over  and  his  lips  just  touched 
her  cool  smooth  cheek.  They  walked  on  in 
silence.  The  next  day  Celia  was  gone. 


VII 

UNTIL   THE   LAST  SHOT 

There  remained  as  consolation  after  this  heart 
breaking  defection  but  two  interesting  things 
in  life  —  the  printing  press  and  the  Flobert 
Rifle.  Somehow  the  week  dragged  through 
until  Sunday,  when  Bobby  duly  scrubbed 
and  dressed,  had  to  go  to  church  with  his  father 
and  mother.  Bobby,  to  tell  the  truth,  did  not 
care  very  much  for  church.  Always  his  glance 
was  straying  to  a  single  upper-section  of  one  of 
the  windows,  which,  being  tipped  inward  at 
the  bottom,  permitted  him  a  glimpse  of  green 
leaves  flushed  with  sunlight.  A  very  joyous 
bird  emphasized  the  difference  between  the 
bright  world  and  this  dim,  decorous  interior 
with  its  faint  church  aroma  compounded  of 
morocco  leather,  flowers,  and  the  odour  of  Sun 
day  garments.  Only  when  the  four  ushers 
tiptoed  about  with  the  collection  boxes  on  the 
end  of  handles,  like  exaggerated  corn-poppers, 
did  the  lethargy  into  which  he  had  fallen  break 

115 


116  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

for  a  moment.  The  irregular  passage  of  the 
receptacle  from  one  to  another  was  at  least  a 
motion  not  ordered  in  the  deliberate  rhythm  of 
decorum;  and  the  clink  of  the  money  was 
pleasantly  removed  from  the  soporific.  Bobby 
gazed  with  awe  at  the  coins  as  they  passed 
beneath  his  little  nose.  He  supposed  there  must 
be  enough  of  them  to  buy  the  Flobert  Rifle. 

The  thought  gave  him  a  pleasant  little  shock. 
It  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  probably 
the  Flobert  Rifle  had  a  price.  It  had  seemed 
so  passionately  to  be  desired  as  to  belong  to 
the  category  of  the  inaccessible  —  like  Mr. 
Orde's  revolver  on  the  top  shelf  of  the  closet, 
or  unlimited  ice  cream,  or  the  curios  locked 
behind  the  glass  in  Auntie  Kate's  cabinet. 
Now  the  revelation  almost  stopped  his  heart. 

"Perhaps  it  doesn't  cost  more'n  a  thousand 
dollars ! "  he  said  to  himself.  And  he  had  already 
made  up  his  mind  to  save  a  thousand  dollars  for 
the  purpose  of  getting  a  boat.  The  boat  idea 
lost  attraction.  His  papa  had  agreed  to  give 
half.  Bobby  lost  himself  in  an  exciting  day 
dream  involving  actual  possession  of  the  Flobert 
Rifle.  He  resolved  that,  on  the  way  home, 
if  the  curtains  were  not  down,  he  would  take 
another  look  at  the  weapon. 


UNTIL  THE  LAST  SHOT  117 

The  curtains  were  not  down;  but  now, 
attached  to  the  Flobert  Rifle,  was  a  stencilled 
card.  Bobby  set  himself  to  reading  it. 

"First  Prize,"  he  deciphered,  "An-nual  Trap 
Shoot,  Monrovia  Sportsman's  Club,  Sep.  10, 
1879." 

For  some  moments  the  significance  of  this 
did  not  reach  him.  Then  all  at  once  a  sob 
caught  in  his  throat.  It  had  never  occurred 
to  poor  little  Bobby  that  there  might  be  other 
Flobert  rifles  in  the  world;  and  here  this  one 
was  withdrawn  from  circulation,  as  it  were, 
to  be  won  as  prize  at  the  trap  shooting. 

Bobby  did  not  recover  from  this  shock  until 
the  following  morning.  Then  a  bright  idea 
struck  him,  an  idea  filled  with  comfort.  The 
Rifle  was  not  necessarily  lost,  after  all.  He 
trudged  down  to  the  store,  entered  boldly, 
and  asked  to  examine  the  weapon. 

"My  papa's  going  to  win  it  and  give  it  to 
me,"  he  announced. 

A  very  brown-faced  man  with  twinkling  gray 
eyes  turned  from  buying  black  powder  and 
felt  wads  to  look  at  him  amusedly. 

"Hullo,  Bobby,"  said  he,  "so  your  father's 
going  to  win  the  rifle  and  give  it  to  you,  is  he? 
Are  you  sure?" 


118  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Of  course,"  replied  Bobby  simply;  "my 
papa  can  do  anything  he  wants  to." 

The  man  laughed. 

"What  do  you  know  about  rifles,  and  what 
would  you  do  with  one  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  know  all  about  them,"  replied  Bobby 
with  great  positiveness,  "and  I  know  where 
there's  lots  of  squirrels." 

The  storekeeper  had  by  now  taken  the  Flobert 
from  the  show  window.  The  other  man  reached 
out  his  hand  for  it. 

:<  Well,  tell  me  about  this  one,"  he  challenged. 

"It's  a  Flobert,"  said  Bobby  without  hesita 
tion,  "and  it  weighs  five  and  a  half  pounds; 
and  its  ri-fling  has  one  turn  in  twenty-eight 
inches;  and  it  has  a  knife-blade  front  sight, 
and  a  bar  rear  sight;  and  it  shoots  22  longs, 
22  shorts,  C  B  caps,  and  B  B  caps.  Only  B  B 
caps  aren't  very  good  for  it,"  he  added. 

"Whew!"    cried  the  man.     "Here,  take  it!" 

Bobby  looked  it  over  with  delight  and  rever 
ence.  This  was  the  first  time  he  had  enjoyed 
it  at  close  hand.  The  blue  of  the  octagon 
barrel  was  like  satin;  the  polish  of  the  stock 
like  a  mirror;  the  gold  plating  of  the  most 
fancy  lock  and  guards  like  the  sheen  of  silk. 
Bobby  loved,  too,  the  indescribable  gun  smell 


UNTIL  THE   LAST  SHOT  119 

of  it  —  compounded  probably  of  the  odours 
of  steel,  wood  and  oil.  With  some  difficulty 
he  lifted  it  to  his  face  and  looked  through  the 
rather  wobbly  sights.  Reluctantly  he  gave 
it  back  into  the  storekeeper's  hands. 

"  Would  you  mind,  please,"  he  asked,  a 
little  awed,  "would  you  mind  letting  me  see 
a  box  of  cartridges?" 

Stafford  smiled  and  reached  to  the  shelf 
behind,  from  which  he  took  a  small,  square, 
delightful,  red  box.  It  had  reading  on  it,  and 
a  portrait  of  the  little  cartridges  it  contained. 
Bobby  feasted  his  eyes  in  silence. 

"I  —  I  know  it's  a  prize,"  said  he  at  last. 
"But  —  how  much  ivas  it?"  ^ 

"Fifteen  dollars,"  replied  Mr.  Bishop. 

Bobby's  eyes  widened  to  their  utmost  capa 
city. 

-Why  — why --why!"  he  gasped;  "I 
thought  it  must  be  a  thousand." 

Both  men  exploded  in  laughter,  in  the  con 
fusion  of  which,  stunned,  surprised,  delighted 
and  excited  with  the  thought  of  eventual  owner 
ship,  Bobby  marched  out  the  door,  where  he 
was  joined  gravely  by  Duke,  his  beautiful 
feather  tail  waving  slowly  to  and  fro  as  he 
walked. 


120  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

Later  in  the  day  Kincaid,  the  spare,  brown 
man  with  the  twinkling  gray  eyes,  met  Mr. 
Orde  on  the  street. 

"  Hullo,  Orde ! "  he  greeted.  "  Hear  you  have 
a  sure  win  of  the  tournament." 

"Sure  win!"  said  Orde,  puzzled,  "What 
you  talking  about?  You  know  I  couldn't 
shoot  against  you  fellows." 

'Well,  your  small  boy  told  me  you  were 
going  to  win  that  rifle  down  at  Bishop's,  and 
give  it  to  him." 

Orde's  face  clouded. 

"He's  been  talking  nothing  but  rifle  for  a 
month,"  said  he.  "I'm  going  West  in  September. 
Wouldn't  have  any  show  against  you  fellows, 
anyway." 

When  Bobby  heard  this  paralyzing  piece  of 
news,  his  entire  scheme  of  things  seemed  shat 
tered.  For  a  long  time  he  sat  staring  with 
death  in  his  heart.  Then  he  arose  silently  and 
disappeared. 

In  the  Proper  Place,  among  Bobby's  other 
possessions,  was  a  small  toy  gun.  Its  stock 
was  of  pine,  its  lock  of  polished  cast  iron,  and 
its  barrel  of  tin.  The  pulling  of  the  trigger 
released  a  spring  in  the  barrel,  which  in  turn 
projected  a  pebble  or  other  missile  a  short  and 


UNTIL  THE   LAST  SHOT  121 

harmless  distance.  Then  a  ramrod  re-set  the 
spring.  When,  the  previous  Christmas,  Bobby 
had  acquired  this  weapon,  he  had  been  very 
proud  of  it.  Latterly,  however,  it  had  fallen 
into  disfavour  as  offering  too  painful  a  contrast 
to  the  real  thing  as  exemplified  by  the  Flobert 
Rifle. 

Bobby  rummaged  the  darkness  of  the  Proper 
Place  until  he  found  this  toy  gun.  From  the 
sack  in  his  father's  closet  —  forbidden  —  he 
deliberately  abstracted  a  handful  of  bird-shot. 
Retiring  to  the  woodshed,  he  set  the  spring  in 
the  gun,  poured  in  what  he  considered  to  be 
about  the  proper  quantity  of  shot,  and  solemnly 
discharged  it  at  the  high  fence.  The  leaden 
pellets  sprayed  out  and  spattered  harmlessly 
against  the  boards.  Thrice  Bobby  repeated 
this.  Then,  quite  without  heat  or  rancour, 
he  threw  the  toy  gun  and  what  remained  of 
the  shot  over  the  fence  into  the  vacant  lot  behind 
it.  His  common  sense  had  foretold  just  this 
result  to  his  experiment,  so  he  was  not  in  the 
least  disappointed;  but  he  had  considered  it 
his  duty  to  try  the  only  expedient  his  ingenuity 
could  invent.  For  if  —  by  a  miracle  —  the  little 
gun  had  discharged  the  shot  with  force;  Bobby 
might  —  by  a  miracle  —  be  permitted  to  par- 


122  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

ticipate  with  it  in  the  Shoot ;  and  might  —  by 
a  miracle  —  win  the  Flobert  himself.  Bobby 
was  no  fool.  He  marked  the  necessity  of  three 
miracles;  and  he  did  not  in  the  least  expect 
them.  Merely  he  wished  to  fulfill  his  entire 
duty  to  the  situation. 

Saturday  morning  —  the  very  day  of  the 
Shoot  —  Mr.  Orde  left  for  California. 

After  lunch  Bobby  trudged  to  Main  Street, 
turned  to  the  right,  away  from  town,  and  set 
himself  in  patient  motion  toward  the  shooting 
grounds. 

These  were  situated  some  two  miles  out 
along  the  county  road.  Bobby  had  driven  to 
them  many  times,  but  had  never  attempted  to 
cover  the  distance  afoot.  The  sun  was  hot, 
and  the  way  dusty.  Many  buggies  and  one 
large  carry-all  passed  him,  each  full  of  the 
participants  in  the  contest.  No  one  thought 
of  giving  Bobby  a  lift,  in  fact  no  one  noticed 
him  at  all.  He  could  not  help  thinking  how 
different  it  would  be  if  only  his  father  had  not 
gone  West. 

" Hello!"    called  a  hearty  voice  behind  him. 

He  turned  to  see  a  yellow  two-wheeled  cart 
drawn  by  a  gaunt  white  horse.  On  the  seat 
close  to  the  horse's  tail  sat  Mr.  Kincaid. 


UNTIL  THE  LAST  SHOT  1S3 

"Going  to  the  Shoot?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Bobby. 

"Well,  jump  in." 

Mr.  Kincaid  moved  one  side,  and  lifted  half 
the  seat  so  Bobby  could  climb  in  from  the  rear. 
Then  he  let  the  seat  down  again  and  clucked 
to  the  horse. 

Mr.  Kincaid  wore  an  ancient  gray  slouch 
hat  pulled  low  over  his  eyes;  and  a  very  old 
suit  of  gray  clothes,  wrinkled  and  baggy.  Some 
how,  in  contrast,  his  skin  showed  browner  than 
ever.  He  looked  down  at  Bobby,  the  fine 
good-humour  lines  about  his  eyes  deepening. 

"Well  youngster,"  said  he,  "where's  your 
father?"  ' 

Bobby's  eyes  fell;  he  kicked  his  feet  back 
and  forth.  Beneath  them  lay  Mr.  Kincaid's 
worn  leather  gun-case,  and  an  oblong  japanned 
box  which  Bobby  knew  contained  shells.  For 
an  instant  he  struggled  with  himself. 

"He  —  he  had  to  go  to  California,"  he  choked; 
and  looked  away  quickly  to  hide  the  tears  that 
sprang  to  his  eyes. 

Mr.  Kincaid  whistled  and  raised  his  hand  so 
abruptly  that  the  old  white  horse,  mistaking 
the  movement  for  a  signal,  stopped  dead,  and 
instantly  went  to  sleep. 


124  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Get  ap,  Bucephalus!"  cried  Mr.  Kincaid 
indignantly. 

Bucephalus  deliberately  awoke,  and  after  a 
moment's  pause  moved  on.  To  Bobby's  relief 
Mr.  Kincaid  said  nothing  further,  but  humped 
over  the  reins,  and  looked  ahead  steadily  across 
the  horse's  back.  He  stole  a  glance  at  the 
older  man;  and  suddenly  without  reason  a 
great  wave  of  affection  swept  over  him.  He 
liked  his  companion's  clear  brown  skin,  and  the 
close  clipped  gray  of  his  hair,  and  his  big  gray 
moustache  beneath  which  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  quirked  faintly  up,  and  the  network  of 
fine  crow's  feet  at  his  temples,  and  the  clear 
steady  steel-colour  of  his  eyes  beneath  the  bushy 
brows.  On  the  spot  Bobby  enshrined  a  hero. 

But  now  they  turned  off  the  main  road 
through  a  gap  in  the  snake-fence,  and  followed 
many  wheel  tracks  to  the  farther  confines  of 
the  field  where,  under  a  huge  tree  they  could 
see  a  group  of  men.  These  hailed  Mr.  Kincaid 
with  joy. 

"Hello,  Kin,  old  man,"  they  roared.  "Got 
here,  did  you  ?  What  day  did  you  start  ?  The 
old  thing  must  be  about  dead.  Lean  him  up 
against  a  tree,  and  come  tell  us  about  the  voy- 
age." 


UNTIL  THE  LAST  SHOT  125 

"The  cannon-ball  express  is  strictly  on 
schedule  time,  boys,"  replied  Mr.  Kincaid, 
looking  solemnly  at  his  watch. 

He  drove  to  the  fence,  where  he  tied  Buce 
phalus.  The  other  rigs  were  hitched  here  and 
there  at  distances  that  varied  as  the  gun-shyness 
of  the  horses.  Bobby  proudly  bore  the  gun-case. 
Mr.  Kincaid  lifted  out  the  heavy  box  of  shells. 

Bobby  took  in  the  details  of  the  scene  with  a 
delight  that  even  his  just  cause  for  depression 
could  not  quench. 

The  men,  some  twenty  in  number,  sprawled 
on  the  ground  or  sat  on  boxes.  Before  them 
stood  a  wooden  rack  with  sockets,  in  which 
already  were  stacked  a  number  of  shotguns. 
Two  pails  of  water  flanked  this  rack,  in  each 
of  which  had  been  thrust  a  slotted  hickory 
"wiper"  threaded  with  a  square  of  cloth.  A 
fairly  large  empty  wooden  box,  for  the  reception 
of  exploded  shells,  marked  the  spot  on  which 
the  shooters  would  stand.  The  rotary  trap 
lay  in  plain  sight  eighteen  yards  away.  That 
completed  the  list  of  arrangements,  which  were, 
in  the  light  of  modern  methods,  as  every  trap 
shooter  of  to-day  will  recognize,  exceedingly 
crude. 

The    men,    however,    supplied    the    interest 


126  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

which  the  equipment  might  lack.  At  that 
time  every  trap-shot  was  also  a  field  shot.  The 
class  which  confines  itself  to  targets  had  not 
even  been  thought  of.  And  good  picked- shots 
have  in  common  everywhere  certain  qualities, 
probably  developed  by  the  life  in  the  open,  and 
the  unique  influences  of  woodland  and  upland 
hunting.  They  are  generous,  and  large  in 
spirit,  and  absolutely  democratic  —  the  million 
aire  and  the  mechanic  meet  on  equal  ground  — 
and  deliberate  in  humour,  and  dry  of  wit.  The 
quiet  chaffing,  tolerant,  good-humoured,  genuine 
intercourse  of  hunters  cannot  be  matched  in 
any  other  class. 

The  components  of  this  group  had  each 
served  his  apprenticeship  in  the  blinds  or  the 
cover.  They  knew  each  other  in  the  free 
masonry  of  the  Field;  and  when  they  met 
together,  as  now,  they  spoke  from  the  gentle 
magic  of  the  open  heart. 

One  exception  must  be  made  to  this  statement, 
however.  Joseph  Newmark,  in  advance  of 
his  time,  shot  methodically  and  well  at  the  trap, 
never  went  afield,  and  maintained  toward  his 
neighbours  an  habitual  dry  attitude  of  politeness. 

Bobby  seated  himself  on  the  ground  and 
prepared  to  listen  with  the  completest  enjoyment. 


UNTIL  THE  LAST  SHOT  127 

These  men  were  to  him  great  or  little  according 
as  they  shot  well  or  ill.  That  was  to  him  the 
sole  criterion.  It  did  not  matter  to  him  that 
Mr.  Heinzman  controlled  the  largest  interests 
in  the  western  part  of  the  state  —  he  "couldn't 
hit  a  balloon";  nor  that  young  Wellman  was 
looked  upon  as  worthless  and  a  loafer  —  he  was 
well  up  among  the  first  five. 

Nearly  everybody  smoked  something.  The 
tobacco  smelled  good  in  the  open  air. 

"Well,"  remarked  Kincaid,  "if  that  Stafford 
party  doesn't  show  up  before  long,  I'm  going 
home.  I  can't  stand  you  fellows  without  some 
excitement  for  a  counter-irritant." 

"That's  right,  Kin,"  called  somebody, 
"Better  start  that  old  Buzzard  toward  town 
pretty  soon,  if  you  want  to  get  in  for  breakfast  — 
there's  a  good  moon!" 

But  at  this  moment  a  delivery  wagon  turned 
into  the  field,  and  drove  briskly  to  the  spot. 
From  it  Mr.  Stafford  descended  spryly. 

"Sorry  to  be  a  little  late,  boys;  just  couldn't 
help  it."  he  apologized. 

His  arrival  galvanized  the  crowd  into  activity. 
From  the  delivery  wagon  they  unloaded  boxes 
of  shells,  two  camp  stools  and  a  number  of 
barrels.  The  driver  then  hitched  his  horses 


128  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

to  the    fence,  and    returned    to    act    as    trap- 
puller. 

One  of  the  barrels  was  rolled  out  to  the  trap, 
opened,  and  its  contents  carefully  spilled  on 
the  ground.  It  contained  a  quantity  of  saw 
dust  and  brown  glass  balls.  These  were  about 
the  size  of  a  base-ball,  had  an  opening  at  the 
top,  and  were  filled  with  feathers.  John,  the 
driver  of  the  delivery  wagon,  climbed  down 
into  a  pit  below  the  trap.  He  set  the  spring 
of  the  trap  and  placed  a  glass  ball  in  its  recep 
tacle  at  the  end  of  one  of  the  two  projecting 
arms.  A  long  cord  ran  from  the  trap  back  to 
the  shooting  stand. 

Mr.  Stafford  opened  a  camp  stool,  sat  down, 
and  produced  a  long  blank  book.  In  this  he 
inscribed  the  men's  names.  Each  gave  him 
two  dollars  and  a  half  as  an  entrance  fee.  A 
referee  and  scorer  were  appointed  from  among 
the  half-dozen  non-shooting  spectators. 

"Newmark  to  shoot;  Heinzman  on  deck!" 
called  the  scorer  in  a  business-like  voice. 

The  trapper  ducked  into  his  hole.  Mr. 
Newmark  thrust  five  loaded  shells  into  his 
side  pocket,  picked  his  gun  from  the  rack  and 
stepped  forward  to  the  mark.  Then  he  loaded 
one  barrel  of  the  gun  and  stood  at  ready.  In 


UNTIL  THE  LAST  SHOT  129 

those  days  nobody  thought  of  standing  gun  to 
shoulder,  as  is  the  present  custom.  The  rule 
was,  "stock  below  elbow." 

"Ready,"  said  he  in  his  dry  incisive  voice. 

"Ready,"  repeated  the  trap  puller  at  his 
elbow. 

"  Pull ! "  commanded  Mr.  Newmark  abruptly. 

Immediately  the  trap  began  to  revolve  rap 
idly;  after  a  moment  or  so  it  sprung,  and  the 
glass  ball,  projected  violently  upward,  sailed 
away  through  the  air.  The  mechanism  of  the 
trap  was  such  that  no  one  could  tell  precisely 
how  long  it  would  revolve  before  springing; 
nor  in  what  direction  it  would  throw  the  target. 
Nevertheless  the  mark  offered  would  now,  in 
comparison  with  our  saucer-shaped  target,  be 
considered  easy.  Mr.  Newmark  brought  his 
gun  to  his  shoulder  and  discharged  it  apparently 
with  one  motion,  before  the  ball  had  more  than 
begun  its  flight.  A  roar  of  the  noisy  black 
powder  shook  the  air.  The  glass  sphere  seemed 
actually  to  puff  out  in  fine  smoke.  Only  the 
feathers  it  had  contained  floated  down  wind. 

"Dead!"  announced  the  referee  in  a  brisk 
business-like  voice. 

Mr.  Newmark  broke  his  gun  and  flipped 
the  empty  yellow  shell  into  the  box  next  him. 


130  THE  ADVENTURES  OP  BOBBY  ORDE 

A  cloud  of  white  powder  smoke  drifted  down 
over  the  group.  Bobby  snuffed  it  eagerly. 
He  thought  it  the  most  delicious  smell  in  the 
world;  and  so  continued  to  think  it  for  many 
years  until  the  nitros  displaced  the  old-fashioned 
compounds.  Four  times  Mr.  Newmark  repeated 
his  initial  performance;  then  stepped  aside. 
"Heinzman  to  shoot;  Wellman  on  deck!" 
announced  the  scorer. 

Mr.  Heinzman  was  already  at  the  mark; 
and  young  Wellman  arose  and  began  to  break 
open  a  box  of  shells.  Mr.  Newmark  thrust 
his  gun  barrels  into  one  of  the  pails  and  with  the 
hickory  wiper  pumped  the  water  up  and  down. 
"He's  a  good  snap-shot,"  Bobby  heard  a 
man  tell  a  stranger,  in  a  half- voice. 

"Has  a  brilliant  style,"  commented  the  other. 
They  fell  into  a  low-toned  conversation  on 
the  partridge  season,  and  the  ducks,  to  which 
Bobby  listened  with  all  his  ears,  the  while  his 
eyes  missed  nothing  of  what  took  place  before 
him.  Nobody  now  spoke  aloud.  The  chaffing 
had  ceased.  Shooter's  etiquette  prohibited  any 
thing  that  even  by  remote  possibility  might 
"rattle"  the  contestants.  Only  the  voices  of 
the  men  at  mark  and  the  referee  were  heard, 
and  the  heavy  bang  of  the  black  powder.  Bobby 


UNTIL  THE  LAST  SHOT  131 

liked  to  listen  to  the  referee.  Reporting,  as 
he  did,  hundreds  of  results  in  the  course  of  the 
afternoon,  his  intonation  became  mechanical. 

"Dead!"  he  snapped  in  the  crispest,  shortest 
syllable,  when  the  glass  ball  was  broken  by 
the  charge, 

"Law-s-s-t!"  he  drawled  when  the  little 
sphere  sailed  away  unharmed. 

Each  shooter  on  finishing  his  first  string  of 
five,  swabbed  out  his  gun,  leaned  it  against  the 
rack,  and  went  to  squat  in  the  group  where  he 
commented  to  his  friends  on  his  own  or  others' 
luck,  but  always  quietly.  An  air  of  the  strictest 
business  held  the  entire  assembly. 

This  broke  slightly  when  Mr.  Kincaid's 
name  was  called.  A  stir  went  through  the 
crowd;  and  some  one  called  out, 

"Go  it,  Old  Reliable.  Have  you  had  any 
hoops  put  around  her  lately?" 

Mr.  Kincaid  grinned  good-naturedly,  but 
made  no  reply.  He  had  discarded  his  coat; 
and  now  wore  a  brown  cardigan  jacket.  He 
took  his  place  with  the  greatest  deliberation, 
consuming  twice  as  much  time  as  any  one  else. 

"Ready,"  said  he. 

"Ready,"  replied  the  trapper  mechanically. 

"PoolJ"   cried  Mr.  Kincaid. 


132  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

The  discharge  delayed  so  long  that  Bobby 
looked  to  see  if  a  misfire  had  occurred;  but 
when  the  ball  reached  the  exact  top  of  its  swing, 
Mr.  Kincaid  broke  it. 

"One  of  the  most  reliable  duck  shots  we 
have,"  said  Bobby's  neighbour  to  the  stranger. 
"He  shoots  just  like  that,  always.  Never  in  a 
hurry;  but  he  seems  to  get  there.  Kills  a  lot 
of  game  in  the  season." 

The  shoot  progressed  with  almost  the  pre 
cision  of  a  machine.  Bobby  amused  himself 
by  closing  his  eyes  to  hear  the  regular  ready, 
pull,  bang!  that  marked  the  progress  of  the 
score.  From  his  level  with  the  tops  of  the 
brown  grasses  of  late  summer  he  enjoyed  the 
wandering  puffs  of  hot  air,  the  drift  of  pungent 
aromatic  powder  smoke,  the  rapid  successive 
bending  of  the  stalks  as  though  fairies  were 
running  over  them  when  the  breezelets  passed. 
It  was  all  very  pleasant  and,  for  the  time  being, 
he  forgot  his  disappointment. 

The  match  was  to  be  at  one-hundred  balls  — 
sixty  singles,  and  twenty  pairs  of  doubles.  Early 
in  the  game  the  different  shooters  began  roughly 
to  group  themselves  on  the  score-cards  accord 
ing  to  their  ability.  One  class,  among  whom 
were  Newmark  and  Kincaid,  continued  to 


UNTIL  THE   LAST  SHOT  133 

break  their  targets  with  unvarying  accuracy. 
Young  Wellman  by  rights  belonged  with  these; 
but  he  had  undershot  a  strong  incomer;  and 
the  miss  had  cost  him  two  others  before  he 
could  recover  his  temper.  The  second  class 
had  missed  from  one  to  five  each.  The  third 
class,  typified  by  Mr.  Heinzman,  had  a  long 
string  of  "goose-eggs"  to  their  discredit. 

The  fiftieth  bird,  however,  Mr.  Kincaid 
missed.  It  flipped  sideways  from  the  arm  of 
the  trap,  and  flew  for  twenty  feet  close  to  the 
ground.  The  referee  had  actually  started  to 
call  "no  bird";  but  Mr.  Kincaid  elected  to  try 
for  it;  missed;  and  had  to  abide  by  his  decision. 
At  the  close  of  the  singles,  Newmark  had  a 
score  of  sixty  straight;  Kincaid  fifty-nine;  and 
the  others  strung  out  variously  in  the 
rear. 

At  this  point,  a  short  recess  was  taken.  The 
crowd  of  men  lit  fresh  cigars;  talked  out  loud; 
circulated  about;  and  relaxed  generally  from 
the  long  strain.  Some  scattered  out  into  the 
grass  to  help  the  trapper  to  look  for  unbroken 
balls.  Ordinarily  Bobby  loved  to  do  this; 
but  to-day  he  sidled  up  to  where  his  friend  was 
stooping  over  the  japanned  box.  Bobby  watched 
him  a  moment  in  silence,  methodically  laying 


134  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

away  the  used  brass  shells,  one  up  and  one 
down  in  regular  succession. 

"It's  too  bad  you  got  beat,"  he  ventured 
timidly  at  last. 

Mr.  Kincaid  ceased  his  occupation,  removed 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  looked  up  at 
Bobby  searchingly. 

"Youngster,"  he  said  kindly,  "I'm  not  beat." 

"You're  behind,"  insisted  Bobby,  "and  New- 
mark  never  misses." 

Mr.  Kincaid  arose  slowly,  and  without  a 
word  took  Bobby  by  the  arm  and  led  him 
around  the  tree.  He  stopped  and  raised  Bobby's 
chin  in  his  gnarled  brown  hand  until  the  little 
boy's  eyes  looked  straight  into  his  own.  Bobby 
noticed  that  the  twinkle  had  —  not  disappeared 
—  but  drawn  far  back  into  their  gray  depths, 
which  had  become  unaccountably  sober. 

"Bobby,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid  gravely,  "always 
remember  this,  all  your  life,  no  matter  what 
happens  to  you;  a  man  is  never  defeated  until 
the  very  last  shot  is  fired." 

He  paused. 

"And  remember  this,  too:  that  even  if  he 
is  defeated,  he  is  not  beaten,  provided  he  has 
done  the  very  best  he  could,  and  has  never  lost 
heart." 


UNTIL  THE  LAST  SHOT  135 

He  looked  a  moment  longer  into  Bobby's 
eyes;  and  the  little  boy  saw  the  gray  twinkle 
flickering  back  to  the  surface,  and  the  crow's- 
feet  deepening  good-naturedly. 

"That's  all,  sonny,"  he  said,  and  withdrew 
his  hand  from  Bobby's  chin. 

"  So  you  want  to  see  me  win  the  rifle,  do  you  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Kincaid,  as  they  turned  away. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Bobby. 

"Why?" 

"Because  you're  a  friend  of  mine,"  replied 
Bobby  with  simple  dignity. 

"And  that's  the  very  best  reason  in  the 
world!"  cried  Mr.  Kincaid  heartily. 

The  shooting  at  the  doubles  began.  Two 
balls  were  placed  in  the  trap  at  once  —  it  will 
be  remembered  that  it  was  provided  with 
double  arms  —  and  thrown  in  the  air  together. 
At  this  game  many  good  scores  fell  into  dis 
integration,  for  it  required  great  quickness  of 
manipulation  to  catch  both  before  one  should 
reach  the  ground.  Mr.  Newmark's  snap  method 
here  stood  him  in  good  stead.  When  Mr. 
Kincaid  stepped  to  the  trap,  the  stranger 
turned  to  his  friend. 

"Here's  where  the  old  fellow  falls  down, 
I'm  afraid,"  said  he  a  trifle  regretfully.  "He's 


136  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

too  deliberate  for  this  business.  I'm  sorry. 
I'd  like  to  see  him  give  Newmark  a  race  for  it." 

"Deliberate!"   snorted  the  local  man. 

Mr.  Kincaid's  preparations  were  as  careful 
and  as  wasteful  of  time  as  ever.  But  when  he 
enunciated  his  famous  "pool!"  the  stranger 
was  treated  to  a  surprise.  The  first  ball  was 
literally  snuffed  into  nothingness  before  it  had 
risen  five  feet  above  the  trap!  Then  quite 
slowly  Mr.  Kincaid  followed  the  second  to  the 
top  of  its  flight  and  broke  it  as  though  it  had 
been  a  single. 

"Lord!"  gasped  the  visitor.  "He  surely 
can't  do  that  with  any  certainty!" 

"Can't  he!"  said  the  other  grimly,  "Watch 
him." 

Interest  soon  centred  on  Newmark  and  Kin 
caid,  as  those  who  had  made  straight  scores  on 
the  singles  now  dropped  one  or  more.  Both 
the  contestants  named  broke  their  nine  pair 
straight.  Bobby  sent  strong  little  waves  of 
hope  for  a  miss  after  each  of  Mr.  Newmark's 
targets,  but  without  avail.  Only  one  pair 
apiece  remained  to  be  shot  at;  and  in  order 
that  Mr.  Kincaid  should  win  the  match,  it  would 
be  necessary  that  Newmark  should  miss  both. 
This  was  inconceivable.  Bobby  threw  himself 


UNTIL  THE  LAST  SHOT  137 

face  downward  in  the  grass,  sick  at  heart.  He 
made  up  his  mind  he  would  not  look.  Never 
theless  when,  Mr.  Newmark's  name  was  called, 
he  sat  up. 

"Pull!"  came  Mr.  Newmark's  dry,  incisive 
voice. 

The  balls  sprang  into  the  air.  A  sharp  click 
followed.  Evidently  a  misfire.  The  referee, 
imperturbable,  stepped  forward  to  examine  the 
shell.  He  found  the  primer  well  indented; 
so,  in  accordance  with  the  rules,  he  announced: 

"No  bird!" 

Mr.  Newmark's  reloaded. 

"Pull!"   he  called  again. 

On  the  first  bird  he  scored  his  first  miss  of 
the  day. 

"Misfire  threw  him  off,"  exclaimed  the  spec 
tators  afterward. 

And  then,  curiously  enough,  a  queer  current 
of  air,  springing  from  nowhere,  utterly  abnormal, 
seized  the  dense  powder  smoke  and  whirled 
it  backward,  completely  enveloping  the  shooter. 
The  obscuration  was  momentary,  but  complete. 
By  the  time  it  had  passed  the  second  ball  had 
fallen  almost  to  the  ground.  Newmark  snapped 
hastily  at  it. 

"Lost!     Lost!"   announced  the  scorer. 


138  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

A  deep  sigh  of  emotion  swept  over  the  crowd. 
Bobby  gripped  his  hands  so  tightly  that  the 
knuckles  turned  white.  He  resented  the  inter 
vention  of  a  half-dozen  other  contestants  before 
Mr.  Kincaid  should  be  called;  and  rolled  about 
in  an  agony  of  impatience  until  his  friend 
stepped  to  the  mark. 

The  men  unconsciously  straightened  and 
removed  the  cigars  from  their  lips.  Two  hits 
would  win;  one  miss  would  tie.  Bobby  stood 
up,  his  breath  coming  and  going  rapidly,  his 
sight  a  little  blurred.  But  Mr.  Kincaid  went 
through  his  motions  of  preparation,  and  broke 
the  two  balls,  with  no  more  haste  or  excitement 
than  if  they  had  been  the  first  two  of  the  match. 

A  cheer  broke  out.  Others  were  still  to 
shoot,  but  this  decided  the  winner. 

"Congratulations!"  said  Newmark  dryly  as 
his  rival  stepped  from  the  mark. 

"That's  all  right,"  replied  Kincaid,  "but  it 
was  sheer  rank  hard  luck  for  you." 

On  the  way  home  just  about  sunset  many 
teams  passed  the  old  white  horse  with  his  old 
yellow  cart,  and  his  driver  hunched  comfortably 
over  the  reins.  Everybody  shouted  final  chaf 
fing,  kindly  congratulations  as  they  sped  by. 

Bobby,  hunched  alongside  in  loyal  imitation 


UNTIL  THE  LAST  SHOT  139 

of  his  companion's  attitude,  glowed  through 
and  through. 

"My!  I'm  glad  you  won!"  he  repeated 
again  and  again. 

Kincaid  looked  straight  ahead  of  him,  his 
gray  eyes  pensive,  the  short  pipe  shifted  to  the 
corner  of  his  mouth.  Finally  he  glanced  down 
amusedly  at  his  ecstatic  companion. 

"You  see,  Bobby?"  he  said,  "—until  the 
lest  shot  is  fired." 


VIII 

THE    FLOBERT   RIFLE 

Thus  Bobby  had  passed  through  the  extremes 
of  hope,  of  anticipation,  of  disappointment  and 
of  despair.  The  Flobert  Rifle  on  which  he  had 
set  his  heart,  which  he  had  firmly  made  up  his 
mind  to  buy  as  soon  as  he  could  save  up  enough 
on  an  allowance  of  one  cent  a  day,  had  been 
withdrawn  from  sale  and  offered  as  prize  for 
the  fall  trap  shooting.  This  had  been  a  severe 
blow,  but  from  it  Bobby  had  finally  rallied. 
His  father  would  participate  in  the  shoot;  his 
father  was  omnipotent  and  invincible.  After 
winning  the  Flobert  Rifle,  he  would  undoubtedly 
give  it  to  Bobby.  Then,  just  before  the  shoot 
Mr.  Orde  had  been  called  west  on  business. 
Bobby  had  been  vouchsafed  only  the  melancholy 
satisfaction  of  seeing  Mr.  Kincaid,  whom  he 
liked,  win  out  over  Mr.  Newmark,  whom  he 
disliked.  The  rifle  was  in  good  hands;  that 
was  all  any  one  could  say  about  it. 

But  one  afternoon,  returning  home  about  two 

140 


THE  FLOBERT  RIFLE  141 

o'clock,  he  was  surprised  to  find  Bucephalus  and 
the  yellow  cart  hitched  out  in  front,  and  Mr. 
Kincaid  sitting  on  the  porch  steps. 

"No  one  home  but  the  girl;  so  I  thought  I'd 
wait,"  he  explained,  shaking  hands  with  Bobby 
very  gravely.  "  I  brought  around  the  new  rifle," 
he  added  further.  ;<  What  do  you  say  to  driving 
up  over  the  hill  somewhere  and  trying 
her?" 

They  drove  slowly  up  the  road  of  planks 
that  gave  footing  over  the  sand-hills.  The 
new  shiny  Flobert  Rifle  with  its  gold-plated 
locks  and  trigger  guards  rested  between  Mr. 
Kincaid's  knees.  He  would  not  permit  Bobby 
to  touch  it,  however. 

When  the  old  white  horse  had  struggled  over 
the  grade  and  into  the  stump-dotted  country, 
Mr.  Kincaid  hitched  him  to  the  fence,  and, 
followed  closely  by  the  excited  Bobby,  climbed 
into  a  field.  From  his  pocket,  quite  deliberately, 
he  produced  a  small  paper  target  and  a  dozen 
tacks  wrapped  in  a  bit  of  paper. 

"We'll  just  nail  her  up  against  this  big  stub," 
he  said  to  Bobby,  tacking  away  with  the  handle 
of  his  heavy  pocket-knife;  "and  then  you  can 
get  a  rest  over  that  little  fellow  there." 

He  stepped  back. 


142  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Now  let's  see  you  open  her,"  he  said,  hand 
ing  over  the  rifle. 

Bobby  had  long  since  acquired  a  theoretical 
familiarity  with  the  mechanism.  He  cocked 
the  arm  and  pulled  back  the  breech  block, 
thus  opening  the  breech  with  its  broken  effect 
due  to  the  springing  of  the  ejector. 

"That's  all  right,"  approved  Mr.  Kincaid, 
pausing  in  the  filling  of  his  pipe,  "but  you  have 
the  muzzle  pointing  straight  at  Duke." 

"It  isn't  loaded,"  objected  Bobby. 

"A  man  who  knows  how  to  handle  a  gun," 
said  Mr.  Kincaid  emphasizing  his  words  impres 
sively  with  the  stem  of  his  pipe,  "never  in  any 
circumstances  lets  the  muzzle  of  his  gun,  loaded 
or  unloaded,  for  even  a  single  instant,  point 
toward  any  living  creature  he  does  not  wish  to 
kill.  Remember  that,  Bobby.  When  you've 
learned  that,  you've  learned  a  good  half  of  gun- 
handling." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Bobby. 

"Keep  the  muzzle  up,"  finished  Mr.  Kincaid, 
"and  then  you're  all  right." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  smaller  stump;  and 
nonchalantly,  as  though  it  were  not  one  of  the 
most  wonderful  affairs  in  the  world  to  own  such 
a  thing,  produced  a  little  square  red  box  con- 


THE  FLOBERT  RIFLE  143 

taining  the  cartridges.  This  he  opened.  Bobby 
gazed  with  the  keenest  pleasure  on  the  orderly 
rows  of  alternate  copper  and  lead  dots. 

44 Now,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid,  "kneel  down 
behind  the  stump."  He  rested  the  rifle  across 
it.  "You  know  how  to  sight,  don't  you?  I 
thought  likely.  When  you  pull  the  trigger, 
try  to  pull  it  steadily,  without  jerking.  Get  in 
here,  Duke!" 

Bobby  knelt,  and  assumed  a  position  to  shoot. 
To  his  surprise  he  found  that  his  heart  was 
beating  very  fast,  and  that  his  breath  came  and 
went  as  rapidly  as  though  he  had  just  climbed 
a  hill.  He  tried  desperately  to  hold  the  front 
sight  in  the  notch  of  the  hind  sight,  and  both  on 
the  black  bull's  eye.  It  was  surprisingly  difficult, 
considering  the  simplicity  of  the  theory.  Finally 
he  pulled  the  trigger  for  the  first  time  in  his  life. 

"Snap!"  said  the  rifle. 

"Now  let's  see  where  you  hit!"  suggested 
Mr.  Kincaid. 

Bobby  started  up  eagerly;  remembered;  and 
with  great  care  laid  the  Flobert,  muzzle  up, 
against  the  stump. 

"That's  right,"  approved  Mr.  Kincaid. 

The  bullet  had  penetrated  the  exact  centre  of 
the  bull's  eye! 


144  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"My!"  cried  Bobby  delighted.  "That  was 
a  pretty  good  shot,  wasn't  it,  Mr.  Kincaid? 
That  was  doing  pretty  well  for  the  first  time, 
wasn't  it?" 

But  Mr.  Kincaid  was  lighting  his  pipe,  and 
seemed  quite  unimpressed. 

"Bullet  went  straight  (puff,  puff),99  said  he. 
"That's  all  you  can  say  (puff,  puff).  No  one 
shot's  a  good  shot  (puff,  puff).  Take's  two  to 
prove  it  (puff,  puff).99 

He  straightened  his  head  and  threw  the 
match  away. 

"It's  too  good,  Bobby,  to  be  anything  but 
an  accident,"  said  he  kindly.  "Now  come  and 
try  again." 

Bobby  was  permitted  to  fire  nine  more  shots, 
of  which  three  hit  the  paper,  and  none  came  near 
the  bull's  eye.  He  could  not  understand  this; 
for  with  the  dead  rest  across  the  stump,  he 
thought  he  was  holding  the  sights  against  the 
black.  Mr.  Kincaid  watched  him  amusedly. 
The  small  figure  crouched  over  the  stump  was 
so  ridiculously  in  earnest.  At  the  tenth  shot 
he  put  the  cover  on  the  box  of  ammunition. 

" Aren't  we  going  to  shoot  any  more?" 
cried  Bobby,  disappointed. 

"Enough's     enough,"     said     Mr.     Kincaid. 


THE  FLOBERT  RIFLE  145 

"Ten  shots  is  practice.  More's  just  fooling 
—  at  first,  anyway.  You  can't  expect  to  become 
a  good  shot  in  an  afternoon.  If  you  could,  why, 
where's  the  glory  of  being  a  good  shot?" 

"I  don't  see  what  made  me  miss,"  speculated 
Bobby. 

"I  think  I  could  tell  you,"  replied  Mr. 
Kincaid,  "but  I'm  not  going  to.  You  think 
it  over;  and  next  time  see  if  you  can  tell  me. 
That's  the  way  to  learn." 

"Next  time!"  cried  Bobby,  his  interest  reviv 
ing. 

"You  aren't  tired  of  it,  are  you?"  enquired 
Mr.  Kincaid  with  mock  anxiety.  "Because 
I've  got  ninety  cartridges  left  here  that  I  wouldn't 
know  what  to  do  with." 

"Oh!  "cried  Bobby. 

"Well,  then,"  proposed  Mr.  Kincaid,  "I'll 
tell  you  what  we'll  do.  You  and  I  will  organize 
the  —  well,  the  Maple  County  Sportsman's 
Association,  say;  and  we'll  hold  weekly  shoots. 
These  will  be  the  grounds.  You  and  I  will  be 
the  charter  members;  but  we'll  let  in  others,  if 
we  happen  to  want  to." 

"Papa,"   breathed   Bobby 

"  Moved  and  seconded  that  Mr.  John  Orde, 
alias  Papa,  be  elected.  Motion  carried,"  said 


146  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

Mr.  Kincaid.  "I'll  be  President,"  he  continued. 
*  *  I've  always  wanted  to  be  president  of  something ; 
and  you  can  be  secretary.  You  must  get  a  little 
blank  book,  and  rule  it  off  for  the  scores.  Then 
maybe  by  and  by  we'll  have  a  prize,  or  some 
thing.  What  do  you  think?" 

Bobby  said  what  he  thought. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid,  opening  the 
wooden  box  that  ran  along  the  floor  of  the  two- 
wheeled  cart  where  the  dashboard,  had  there 
been  one,  would  have  been  placed,  "this  is 
the  next  thing :  when  you're  through  shooting, 
clean  the  gun.  If  you  leave  it  over  night,  the 
powder  dirt  will  make  a  fine  rust  that  you  may 
never  be  able  to  get  out;  and  rust  will  eat  into 
the  rifling  and  make  the  gun  inaccurate.  No 
matter  how  late  it  is,  or  how  tired  you  are, 
always  dean  your  gun  before  you  go  to  bed.  It's 
the  second  most  important  thing  I  can  teach 
you.  You'll  see  lots  of  men  who  can  kill  game, 
perhaps,  but  remember  this;  the  fellow  who 
lets  his  gun  point  toward  no  living  thing  but  his 
game,  and  who  keeps  it  bright  and  clean,  is 
further  along  toward  being  a  true  sportsman  — 
even  if  he  is  a  very  poor  shot  —  than  the  careless 
man  who  can  hit  them." 

He  gave  Bobby  the  steel  wire  cleaning-rod, 


THE   FLOBERT  RIFLE  147 

the  rags,  and  the  oil  can,  and  showed  him  how 
to  get  all  the  powder  residue  from  the  rifling 
grooves  in  the  barrel. 

"There,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid,  folding  back  the 
half-seat,  "climb  in.  That  settles  it  for  to-day." 

Bucephalus  came  to  with  reluctance.  Going 
down  hill  he  settled  into  a  slow  steady  jog,  which 
soon  covered  the  distance  to  the  Orde  house. 
Bobby  climbed  out  and  turned  to  utter  thanks. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid.  "Next 
time  I'm  going  to  shoot,  myself;  and  you'll 
have  to  rustle  to  beat  me.  Don't  forget  the 
score  book." 

"When  will  it  be?"  asked  Bobby. 

"Oh,  Thursday  again,"  replied  Mr.  Kincaid. 
He  disengaged  the  Flobert  from  between  his 
knees.  "Here,"  said  he;  "you  take  this  and 
put  it  away  carefully.  I'll  keep  the  ammunition," 
he  added  with  a  grim  smile.  "Remember 
not  to  snap  it.  Snapping's  bad  for  it  when  it  is 
empty.  Good-bye. ' ' 

He  drove  off  down  the  street  beneath  the 
over-arching  maples,  the  old  white  horse  jogging 
sleepily,  the  old  yellow  cart  lurching.  Over 
his  shoulder  floated  puffs  of  smoke  from  his 
pipe. 

Bobby  carried  the  new  rifle  into  the  house, 


148  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

ascended  to  his  own  room,  and  sat  down  to 
enjoy  it  to  its  smallest  detail.  The  heavy  blued 
octagon  barrel  bore  an  inscription  which  he 
deciphered  —  the  maker's  name,  and  the  patents 
under  which  the  arm  was  manufactured.  He 
examined  the  sights,  and  how  they  were  fastened 
to  the  barrel;  the  fall  of  the  hammer;  the  firing- 
pin;  the  mechanism  of  the  ejector,  the  butt  plate, 
the  polished  stock  and  the  manner  in  which 
it  was  attached  to  the  barrel.  Over  the  fancy 
scroll  of  the  gold-plated  trigger-guard  he  passed 
his  fingers  lovingly.  The  trigger-guard  extended 
back  along  the  grip  of  the  stock  in  a  long  thin 
metal  strip  —  also  gold-plated.  It,  too,  bore 
an  inscription.  Bobby  read  it  once  without 
taking  in  its  meaning;  a  second  time  with  grow 
ing  excitement.  Then  he  rushed  madly  through 
the  house  shrieking  for  his  mother. 

"Mamma,  Mamma!"  he  cried.  "Where  are 
you?  Come  here!" 

Mrs.  Orde  came  —  on  the  run  —  likewise 
the  cook,  and  the  butcher.  They  found  Bobby 
dancing  wildly  around  and  around,  hugging 
close  to  his  heart  the  Flobert  rifle. 

"Bobby,  Bobby!"  cried  Mrs.  Orde.  "What 
is  it?  What's  the  matter?  Are  you  hurt?" 

She  caught  sight  of  the  gun,  leaped  to  the 


THE  FLOBERT  RIFLE  149 

conclusion  that  Bobby  had  shot  himself  and 
sank  limply  into  a  chair. 

"  See !  Look  here ! "  cried  Bobby.  He  thrust 
the  rifle,  bottom  up  into  her  lap.  "Read  it!" 

On  the  plate  behind  the  trigger-guard,  carved 
in  flowing  script,  were  these  words. 

To  Robert  Orde  from  Arthur  Kincaid.  Septem 
ber  10,  1879. 


IX 

MR.    DAGGETT 

The  printing  press,  too,  was  now  a  success. 
What  time  Bobby  could  spare,  he  spent  over 
his  new  work.  In  fact  he  would  probably 
have  printed  out  all  his  interest  in  the  shape 
of  cards  for  friends  and  relatives,  did  not  an 
incident  spur  his  failing  enthusiasm.  The  little 
tin  box  of  printer's  ink  went  empty.  Bobby 
tried  to  buy  more  at  Smith's  where  other  kinds 
of  ink  were  to  be  had.  Mr.  Smith  had  none. 

'You'd  better  go  over  to  Mr.  Daggett's,"  he 
advised.     "He'll  let  you  have  some." 

Bobby  crossed  the  street,  climbed  a  stairway 
slanting  outside  a  square  wooden  store  building 
and  for  the  first  time  found  himself  in  a  printing 
office. 

Tall  stands  held  tier  after  tier  of  type-cases, 
slid  in  like  drawers.  The  tops  were  slanted. 
On  them  stood  other  cases,  their  queerly 
arranged  and  various-sized  compartments 
exposed  to  view.  Down  the  centre  of  the  room 


150 


MR.   DAGGETT  151 

ran  a  long  table.  One  end  of  it  was  heaped 
with  printed  matter  in  piles  and  in  packages, 
the  other  was  topped  with  smooth  stone  on  which 
rested  forms  made  up.  Shelves  filled  with  sta 
tionery,  cans  and  the  like  ran  down  one  side 
the  room.  Beyond  the  table  were  two  presses, 
a  big  and  a  little.  In  one  corner  stood  a  table 
with  a  gas  jet  over  it.  In  another  was  an  open 
sink  with  running  water.  A  thin  man  in  dirty 
shirt-sleeves  was  setting  type  from  one  of  the 
cases.  Another,  shorter  man  at  the  stone- 
topped  table  was  tapping  lightly  with  a  mallet 
on  a  piece  of  wood  which  he  moved  here  and 
there  over  a  form.  A  boy  of  fifteen  was  print 
ing  at  the  smaller  of  the  presses.  A  huge 
figure  was  sprawled  over  the  table  in  the  corner. 
In  the  air  hung  the  delicious  smell  of  printer's 
ink  and  the  clank  and  chug  of  the  press. 

Bobby  stood  in  the  doorway  some  time. 
Finally  the  boy  said  something  to  the  man  at 
the  table.  The  latter  looked  up,  then  arose 
and  came  forward. 

He  was  of  immense  frame,  but  gaunt  and 
caved-in  from  much  stooping  and  a  consump 
tive  tendency.  His  massive  bony  shoulders 
hung  forward;  his  head  was  carried  in  advance. 
In  character  this  head  was  like  that  of  a  Jove 


152  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

condemned  through  centuries  to  long  hours  in 
a  dark,  unwholesome  atmosphere  —  the  grand, 
square,  bony  structure,  the  thick,  upstanding 
hair,  the  bushy,  steady  eyebrows,  the  heavy 
beard.  But  the  cheeks  beneath  the  beard 
were  sunken;  the  eyes  in  the  square-cut  caverns 
were  kind  and  gentle  —  and  very  weary. 

"I  want  to  see  if  I  can  get  some  ink  of  you," 
requested  Bobby,  holding  out  his  little  tin  box. 

Mr.  Daggett  took  the  box  without  replying; 
and,  opening  it,  tested  with  his  finger  the  quality 
and  colour  of  what  it  had  contained. 

"I  guess  so,"  said  he. 

He  led  the  way  to  one  of  the  shelves  and 
opened  a  can  as  big  as  a  bucket.  Bobby 
gasped. 

"My!"  he  cried;  "will  you  ever  use  all 
that?" 

Mr.  Daggett  nodded,  and,  dipping  a  broad- 
bladed  knife,  brought  up,  on  merely  its  point, 
enough  to  fill  Bobby's  tin  box. 

"How  much  is  it?"  asked  Bobby. 

"Let's  see,  you're  Jack  Orde's  little  boy, 
aren't  you?"  asked  Daggett. 

"Yes,   sir." 

"Well,  that's  all  right,  then.     It's  nothing." 

"Oh,  thank  you!"  cried  Bobby,  overwhelmed. 


MR.   DAGGETT  153 

The  man  nodded  his  massive  head.  "Please," 
ventured  Bobby,  hesitating,  "please,  would 
you  mind  if  I  stay  a  little  while  and  watch?" 

"  'Course  not,"  assured  Mr.  Daggett.  "Stay 
as  long  as  you  want." 

He  returned  to  his  table  and  forgot  the  little 
boy.  An  hour  later  he  looked  up.  Bobby 
was  still  there  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  staring  with  all  his  might.  Mr.  Daggett 
pulled  together  his  great  frame  and  arose. 

"Have  you  a  printing  press?"  he  asked 
Bobby. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Bobby  — "it's  only  a 
little  one  —  to  print  two  lines,"  he  added. 

"Do   you   like   printing?" 

"Oh!"  burst  out  Bobby  enthusiastically, 
"it's  more  fun  than  anything!" 

"I'd  like  to  see  some  of  your  work."  said 
Mr.  Daggett  a  flash  of  amusement  flickering 
in  his  deep  eyes. 

Bobby  felt  in  his  pocket  and  gravely  pre 
sented  a  card. 

"Mr.  Robert  Orde. 
Job  Printer." 

"Why,"  said  Mr.  Daggett,  surprised,  "this 
is  pretty  well  done.  I  didn't  know  you  could 
make  ready  so  well  on  those  little  presses." 


154  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

" What's  'make  ready'?"  asked  Bobby. 

:'Why,  regulating  the  impression  so  that  all 
the  letters  are  printed  evenly." 

"They  didn't  for  a  long  time,"  sighed  Bobby. 
"I  had  lots  of  trouble." 

"How  did  you  make  it  go?"  asked  Mr. 
Daggett,  interested. 

Bobby  explained  the  pasting  of  the  slips  of 
paper. 

'Who  taught  you  that?"  asked  Mr.  Daggett 
sharply. 

4 'Nobody;  I  just  thought  of  it." 

Two  hours  later,  when  the  noon  whistles  blew, 
Bobby  said  good-bye  to  his  friend  after  a  most 
interesting  morning.  Mr.  Daggett  had  showed 
him  everything.  He  explained  how  in  the  type- 
cases  the  capital  letters  occupied  little  com 
partments  all  alike  and  at  the  top,  but  how  the 
small  letters  were  arranged  arbitrarily  in  various- 
sized  compartments. 

'You  see,"  said  he,  "we  use  the  e  oftenest, 
so  that  is  the  largest  and  is  right  in  the  middle. 
And  here  is  the  a  near  it,  but  a  little  smaller. 
A  man  has  to  learn  where  they  are." 

Then  they  watched  the  compositor  setting 
type  in  the  metal  "stick"  with  the  sliding  end. 
The  compositor  showed  Bobby  how  he  could 


MR.   DAGGETT  155 

tell  when  the  letters  were  right  side  up  by 
feeling  the  nicks  in  the  type,  without  the 
necessity  of  looking;  how  he  used  the  leads 
to  space  between  the  lines.  His  hands  flew 
from  one  compartment  of  the  type  case  to  the 
other  and  the  type  clicked  sharply.  In  a 
moment  the  stick  was  full.  All  three  walked 
over  to  the  "composing  table"  of  stone.  Here 
Bobby  watched  the  type  placed  in  the  huge 
iron  frame,  which  was  then  rilled  in  with  the 
wooden  blocks.  The  wedge-shaped  irons  locked 
it.  Finally  the  block  and  mallet  went  over 
the  whole  surface  to  even  it  down. 

Bobby  saw  proof  taken.  He  watched  the 
small  press  in  operation.  It  was  worked  by  a 
foot  lever.  The  round  ink  plate  which  auto 
matically  made  a  quarter  turn  at  each  impression 
and  the  double  automatic  ink-rollers  were  a 
revelation  to  him.  All  the  boy  had  to  do  was 
to  insert  and  withdraw  the  paper  and  push 
down  with  his  foot.  And  the  pressure  was  so 
exact  and  so  delicate  and  so  brief  —  as  though 
the  type  and  the  platen  coquetted  without 
actually  touching;  and  the  imprint  was  so  true 
and  clear!  Even  on  the  thin  paper,  the  shape 
of  the  type  did  not  stamp  through! 

He   could   have   watched   for   an   hour,    but 


156  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

shortly  the  job  was  finished,  so  he  moved 
on  to  look  at  the  coloured  inks  and  the 
fascinating  variety  of  papers  and  cards  and 
envelopes, 

This  latter  occupation  kept  him  busy  for  a 
long  time.  He  had  not  realized  that  so  many 
shapes  and  kinds  of  letters  could  exist.  Mr. 
Daggett  told  him  their  names  and  sizes  —  non 
pareil,  brevier,  agate,  pica,  minion  and  a  dozen 
others  which  Bobby  could  not  remember  but 
which  he  found  exotic  and  attractive.  Espe 
cially  was  he  interested  in  the  poster  type,  made 
of  wood.  One  letter  was  bigger  than  the 
whole  form  of  his  little  press. 

When  he  left,  Mr.  Daggett  gave  him  a  small 
heavy  package. 

"Here  you  are,"  said  he.  "Here's  an  old 
font  of  script.  It's  old  and  too  worn  for  my 
use,  but  you  can  fool  with  it." 

Bobby  was  delighted.  He  could  hardly  wait 
to  get  home  before  undoing  the  package.  The 
font  formed  a  compact  quadrilateral  wound 
around  the  edges  with  string.  The  letters  were 
all  arranged  in  order  —  four  capital  A's  — 
A  A  A  A  —  then  the  Bs,  and  so  on.  It  differed 
from  his  own  font.  The  one  that  came  with  his 
press  had  just  three  of  each  letter  —  large  or 


MR.  DAGGETT  157 

small.  This  varied.  For  instance,  there  were 
twenty  ss,  and  only  two  qs.  Bobby  procured 
Ms  tweezers  and  began  to  set  up  his  own  name. 
He  had  no  stick  so  he  got  out  the  form  with 
the  two  narrow  wooden  groves.  To  his  dis 
may  the  type  would  not  fit.  They  were  at 
least  a  quarter  inch  longer  than  his  own. 

"Why  so  solemn,  Bobby?"  enquired  his 
father  at  lunch  a  few  minutes  later.  "What's 
wrong?" 

"My  printing  press  isn't  a  real  one,"  broke 
out  Bobby.  "It's  a  toy  one!  I  don't  like 
toys!" 

44 Oh,  ho!"  cried  Mr.  Orde.  "Don't  like 
toys,  eh!  How  about  the  engine  and  cars,  and 
the  tin  soldiers?" 

"I  don't  like  them  any  more,  either,"  insisted 
Bobby  stoutly. 

"All  right,"  suggested  Mr.  Orde,  winking 
at  his  wife.  "Of  course  then  you  won't  want 
them  any  more:  I'll  just  give  them  away  to  some 
other  little  boy." 

"All  right,"  assented  Bobby  with  genuine 
and  astonishing  indifference. 

Bobby  laid  the  little  press  away,  but  he  could 
not  resist  the  fascination  of  Mr.  Daggett's 
printing  office.  One  day  he  came  from  it 


158  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

bearing  an  inky  and  much-thumbed  catalogue. 
He  fairly  learned  it  by  heart  —  not  only  the 
machines,  from  the  tiny  card  press  to  the  beauti 
ful  fifty-dollar  self-inker  beyond  which  his 
ambition  did  not  stray,  but  also  all  the  little 
accessories  of  the  trade  —  the  mallet,  the  patent 
quoins,  the  sticks,  the  type-cases,  the  com 
posing  stones,  the  roller  moulds  and  composi 
tions,  the  patent  gauge-pins,  the  lead-cutters, 
the  slugs.  And  page  after  page  he  ran  over 
the  type  in  all  its  sizes  and  in  all  its  modifications 
of  form.  These  things  fascinated  him  and  held 
him  with  a  longing  for  them,  like  revolvers 
and  razors  and  carpenter's  chisels  and  peavies 
and  all  other  business-like  tools  of  a  trade. 
Their  very  shapes  were  the  most  appropriate 
and  romantic  shapes  they  could  possibly  have 
assumed.  He  made  lists.  At  first  they  were 
elaborate,  and  included  the  big  foot  press  and 
four  fonts  of  type  and  three  colours  of  ink  and 
fixings  innumerable.  They  then  shrank  mod 
estly  by  gradations  until  they  stuck  at  the 
5x7  form.  Bobby  would  not  have  cared  for  a 
press  smaller  than  that,  for  he  wanted  to  print 
real  things,  like  bill-heads  and  whist  cards  and 
perhaps  a  small  newspaper.  His  little  heart 
throbbed  with  a  complete  enthusiasm. 


MR.  DAGGETT  159 

"When  I  grow  up  I  think  I'd  like  to  be  a 
printer  like  Mr.  Daggett,"  he  said  wistfully. 

"Oh,  no,  you  wouldn't,"  said  Mr.  Orde. 
"  It's  a  poor  trade  —  no  money  in  it  here  —  and 
you'd  have  to  stay  in  the  house  all  the  time. 
You  wouldn't  want  to  be  a  printer,  Bobby." 

"Yes  I  would,"  repeated  Bobby  positively. 


THE  SPORTSMAN'S  ASSOCIATION 

The  Maple  County  Sportsman's  Association 
held  its  weekly  shoots  with,  regularity.  It 
consumed  a  great  deal  of  Bobby's  time  and 
attention.  You  see,  each  event  was  to  be 
anticipated,  and  then  remembered;  the  score 
was  to  be  rejoiced  over  or  regretted;  and  the 
great  question  of  how  to  do  better  was  to  be 
considered  prayerfully  and  long.  Bobby  found 
it  to  be  a  more  complicated  problem  than  he 
would  have  believed  possible.  He  used  to  lie 
awake  in  bed  thinking  it  over.  Regularly 
before  Thursday  came  around  he  hit  on  a 
complete  solution  of  the  difficulty;  and  as 
regularly  he  discovered  by  the  actual  test  that 
something,  whether  of  theory  or  practice,  still 
lacked. 

Mr.  Kincaid  always  listened  to  his  ideas  non- 
commitally. 

"I've  found  out  what  it  is!"  cried  Bobby  as 
soon  as  Bucephalus  had  approached  within 

160 


THE  SPORTSMAN'S  ASSOCIATION       161 

hearing  distance.  "You  got  to  practise  until 
your  forefinger  works  all  by  itself  —  entirely 
separate  from  the  rest  of  your  arm.  Then 
the  rifle  won't  jerk  sideways  so  much." 

"All  right,"  Mr.  Kincaid  responded,  as 
Bobby  climbed  laboriously  into  the  cart.  "Try 
it." 

Bobby  tried  it;  found  it  difficult  to  accom 
plish,  and  not  altogether  effective.  The  bullets 
still  scattered  more  or  less  like  a  shot-gun  charge. 
Mr.  Kincaid's  score  more  than  doubled  his. 
Mr.  Kincaid  always  shot  the  best  he  could;  and 
entered  a  grave  negative  to  Bobby's  tentative 
suggestion  for  a  handicap. 

"No,  Bobby,"  said  he,  "don't  believe  in  'em. 
It  really  doesn't  matter  whether  you  defeat 
me  or  not ;  now  does  it  ?  But  it  does  matter 
whether  you  get  to  be  a  good  enough  shot  to 


win.' 


After  each  demolition  of  his  ideas,  Bobby 
returned  a  trifle  dashed,  but  with  undaunted 
spirit.  Again  his  busy  brain  attacked  the 
puzzle.  In  a  week  he  had  another  hypothesis 
ready  for  the  test. 

Thus  he  edged  slowly  but  surely  toward 
marksmanship.  The  sight  must  be  held  on 
the  mark  for  an  instant  after  the  discharge;  the 


162  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

trigger  must  be  squeezed  steadily,  not  pulled; 
the  independent  command  of  the  forefinger 
is  helped  by  as  inclusive  a  grasp  of  the  stock  as 
possible;  holding  the  breath  is  an  aid  to  steadi 
ness  —  these,  and  a  dozen  other  first  principles, 
Bobby  acquired,  one  after  another,  by  the  slow 
inductive  process.  Each  helped;  and  Mr. 
Kincaid  appreciated  that  his  pupil  was  learning 
intelligently,  so  that  in  the  final  result  Bobby 
would  not  only  be  a  good  shot,  but  he  would 
know  why. 

In  the  meantime  various  changes  were  taking 
place  in  the  seasons,  which  Bobby  noted  in  his 
own  fashion.  The  little  green  apples  of  sum 
mer  —  just  right  for  throwing  and  for  casting 
from  the  end  of  a  switch  —  were  now  large  and 
rosy.  Under  the  big  hickory  tree  in  the  Fuller's 
yard  were  already  to  be  found  occasional  nuts. 
The  leaves  were  turning  gorgeous;  and  enough 
were  falling  to  make  it  necessary  that  the  house 
holder  search  out  his  broad  rake.  In  the 
country  the  shocks  of  corn  stood  in  rows  like 
so  many  Indian  chiefs  wrapped  each  in  his 
blanket,  his  plumes  waving  above.  The  night 
was  weird  with  the  notes  of  birds  migrating. 

To  each  of  these  things  Bobby,  like  every 
other  boy  in  town,  gave  his  attention.  Apples 


THE  SPORTSMAN'S  ASSOCIATION       163 

and  grapes  there  were  everywhere  in  abundance. 
The  early  pioneer  planted  always  his  orchard 
and  his  arbours.  The  town,  taking  root  on 
the  old  riverside  farms,  preserved,  as  far  as  it 
could,  the  fruit-trees.  Every  one  who  had  a 
yard  of  any  size  about  his  house,  possessed 
also  an  apple  tree  or  so  and  a  grape  vine  - 
sometimes  a  chance  peach  or  pear.  Bobby 
could  not  go  amiss  for  fresh  fruit;  but  he  liked 
best  of  all  the  sweet  little  red  "Delawares" 
that  grew  back  of  Auntie  Kate's  kitchen  garden. 
These  he  picked,  warmed  by  the  sun.  The 
satiny  "Concords"  from  the  trellis,  however, 
were  better  dipped  in  cool  water,  which,  with 
some  labour,  he  caused  to  gush  sparkling  from 
an  old-fashioned  wooden  pump.  Auntie  Kate's 
apple  trees,  too,  were  of  selected  varieties. 
Early  in  the  season  were  the  soft  yellow  sweet 
ings  ;  then  the  streaked  red  and  green  "  Northern 
Spies";  and  last  of  all  the  snow-apples  with 
their  contrast  of  deep  crimson  outside  and 
white  flesh  within.  The  windfalls  covered  the 
ground  ready  to  the  hand;  and  the  branches 
bent  under  their  burden.  It  was  the  season 
of  apple-sauce  with  cinnamon,  and  baked 
apples  with  a  dab  of  jelly  where  the  core  ought 
to  be,  and  apple-tapioca  and  Brown  Betty. 


164  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

And  these  tasted  wondrous  good,  even  to  young 
sters  already  gorged  with  raw  fruit. 

In  every  front  yard  and  along  every  street 
front  the  householders  were  busy  raking  the 
crisp  autumn  leaves  into  great  heaps  and  long 
piles.  Bobby  and  his  friends  liked  solemnly  to 
"swish"  their  little  legs  through  them;  to  roll 
in  them ;  to  hide  beneath  them  by  burrowing  like 
so  many  squirrels.  If  this  was  the  season  of 
fruit,  it  was  also  the  season  of  bonfires.  Every 
one  burned  leaves  in  those  days,  blissfully 
unconscious  of  future  city  ordinances.  A  thin 
sweet  haze  of  smoke  hung  constantly  in  the  air 
mellowing  the  blue  of  the  sky,  softening  the 
outlines  of  the  hills,  aromatic  as  an  incensed 
cathedral.  In  the  evenings  the  fires  winked 
bravely  on  both  sides  the  streets.  Figures  with 
rakes  were  silhouetted  against  them.  Smaller 
figures  careered  wildly  in  and  out  the  dense 
smoke.  It  was  a  great  "dare"  to  run  and 
jump  directly  through  the  fire!  Now  the  sun 
was  getting  lazy;  and  sometimes  Bobby  was 
allowed  the  indulgence  of  a  half-hour  of  this 
delicious  wild  fun.  He  always  came  in  smoky 
and  overheated;  and  always  Mrs.  Orde  vowed 
that  it  should  not  happen  again it  did. 

Then    there    were    the    hickory    nuts    to    be 


THE  SPORTSMAN'S  ASSOCIATION       165 

gathered  in  pails  and  sacks  and  spread  out  on 
the  garret  floor  to  cure.  Unfortunately  the 
hickory  tree  was  very  tall,  so  the  boys  had 
patiently  to  await  the  pleasure  of  the  wind. 
Walnuts  and  butternuts,  on  the  contrary,  were 
to  be  knocked  down  with  well-aimed  clubs; 
hazelnuts  to  be  stripped  from  the  bushes ;  and 
beech-nuts  to  be  shaken  down  by  a  bold  and 
practised  climber.  And  in  the  woods  the 
squirrels  were  busy  laying  away  their  winter 
stores. 

Mr.  Kincaid  and  Bobby  were  often  afield 
on  the  beech  ridges.  Mr.  Kincaid  carried  his 
gun,  but  he  did  not  use  it.  They  looked  for 
squirrels.  The  woods  were  carpeted  with  dead 
leaves  on  which  the  sun  lay  golden.  They  had 
to  move  very  quietly  and  keep  a  very  sharp 
lookout.  When  the  game  was  sighted,  the 
matter  was  by  no  means  resolved.  Squirrels 
are  lively  people,  and  expert  at  hiding.  Bobby 
and  Mr.  Kincaid  chased  hard  and  breathlessly 
to  force  their  quarry  up  a  tree.  When  that 
was  accomplished,  it  was  by  no  means  easy  to 
get  a  shot.  The  squirrel  leaped  from  one  tree 
to  another  as  fast  as  his  enemies  below  could  run. 
Finally  he  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  tall  beech 
whose  trunk  he  immediately  put  between  him- 


166  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

self  and  the  hunters.  It  became  necessary 
first  to  see  him,  second  to  get  a  shot  at  him, 
third  to  hit  him,  and  last  to  bring  him  down. 
Bobby,  shooting  the  heavy  barrelled  Flobert 
at  unaccustomed  ranges,  and  at  an  elusive  mark, 
discovered  the  appetite  of  atmosphere  for  lead. 
Nevertheless  it  was  the  most  exciting,  breath 
less,  tingling  game  he  had  ever  played.  The 
air  was  biting  cold,  especially  after  the  sun 
began  to  sink  through  the  trees,  but  it  had  the 
effect  merely  of  nipping  Bobby's  nose  and 
cheeks  red— his  little  body  was  tingling  and 
aglow.  On  his  banner  day  be  brought  down 
two  fox-squirrels,  and  one  of  the  beautiful 
black  squirrels,  then  not  uncommon,  but  now 
practically  extinct.  In  the  process  he  used 
up  his  box  of  cartridges. 


XI 

THE    MARSHES 

"Real  fall  weather,"  that  season  of  1879, 
seemed  to  delay  long  beyond  the  appointed 
time.  During  each  night,  to  be  sure,  it  grew 
cold.  The  leaves,  after  their  blaze  and  riot 
of  colour,  turned  crisp  and  crackly  and  brown. 
Some  of  the  little  still  puddles  were  filmed  with 
what  was  almost,  but  not  quite,  ice.  A  sheen 
of  frost  whitened  the  house-roofs  and  silvered 
each  separate  blade  of  grass  on  the  lawns.  But 
by  noon  the  sun,  rising  red  in  the  veil  of  smoke 
that  hung  low  in  the  snappy  air,  had  mellowed 
the  atmosphere  until  it  lay  on  the  cheek  like 
a  caress.  No  breath  of  air  stirred.  Sounds 
came  clearly  from  a  distance.  Long  V-shaped 
flights  of  geese  swept  athwart  the  sky  very 
high  up,  but  their  honking  carried  faintly  to  the 
ear.  Time  seemed  to  have  run  down.  And 
yet  when  the  sun,  swollen  to  the  great  dimen 
sions  of  the  rising  moon,  dipped  blood-red 
through  the  haze,  the  first  faint  premonitory 

167 


163  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

tingle  of  cold  warned  one  that  the  tepid,  grate 
ful  warmth  of  the  day  had  been  but  an  illusion 
of  a  season  that  had  gone.  This  was  not  sum 
mer;  but,  in  the  quaint  old  phrase,  Indian 
summer.  And  its  end  would  be  as  though  the 
necromancer  had  waved  his  wand. 

In  the  meantime  the  barges  and  schooners 
continued  to  take  chances  in  order  to  market 
the  last  of  the  year's  lumber  crop;  the  small 
boys  and  squirrels  made  the  most  of  the  nut 
crop;  the  grouse  remained  scattered  in  noisy 
cover;  and  the  ducks  frequented  the  open 
stretches  where  they  were  quite  out  of  reach. 

But  at  last  Bobby  Orde,  awakening  early, 
heard  the  rising  and  falling  moan  of  wind  past 
the  eaves'  corner  outside  his  windows.  He 
hopped  out  of  bed,  thrust  his  feet  into  a  pair 
of  knit  socks  and  ran  to  the  window.  The  sun 
was  not  yet  up;  but  the  wild  barbaric  gold  of 
it  was  flung  abroad  over  flat,  hard-looking 
clouds. 

"Bright  sunrise  at  morning, 

The  sailor  takes  warning/  " 
murmured  Bobby. 

In  the  yard  below,  the  brown  leaves  were 
chasing  themselves  madly  around  and  about, 
back  and  forth,  like  restless  spirits.  Others 


THE   MARSHES  169 

slanted  down  from  the  trees  in  continuous 
flocks.  The  maples  tossed  restlessly.  In  the 
air  was  a  deep  bitter  chill  which  sent  Bobby 
scurrying  back  to  his  warm  nest  in  a  hurry. 

After  breakfast  he  was  glad  of  his  heavier 
suit.  The  sun  rose  and  shone,  it  is  true;  but 
its  rays  possessed  no  warmth.  The  light  of  it 
appeared  to  be  a  cold  silver,  like  the  sheen  on 
stubble.  All  the  landscape  seemed  to  have 
paled.  Gone  were  the  rich  glowing  reds,  the 
warm  browns.  A  gray  cast  hung  over  the  land. 

From  school  Bobby  hurried  home  to  be  in 
time  for  an  early  lunch  as  Mr.  Orde  wanted  to 
go  up  river.  He  found  Bucephalus  in  front; 
and  Mr.  Kincaid  about  to  sit  down  to  the  lunch 
table.  The  latter  had  on  his  old  gray  suit  and 
cardigan  jacket. 

"Hullo,  youngster!"  he  greeted  Bobby, 
"Looks  like  pretty  good  weather  for  ducks. 
Want  to  go  for  a  shoot?" 

That  settled  lunch  for  Bobby.  He  could 
hardly  stay  at  table  until  the  others  had  finished; 
and  heard  with  enraptured  joy  his  mother's 
voice,  as  she  rose  from  the  table,  asking  Mr. 
Kincaid  about  provisions. 

"I  have  all  that,"  replied  Mr.  Kincaid,  "and 
there's  lots  of  bedding  and  such  things." 


170  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

Nevertheless  Mrs.  Orde  slipped  away  after 
a  moment  to  wrap  up  a  loaf  of  "salt-rising 
bread,"  and  one  of  "dutch  bread."  The  two- 
wheeled  cart  Bobby  found,  when  finally  he 
and  Mr.  Kincaid  emerged  from  the  house 
carrying  his  valise,  to  be  well  packed  with  the 
shell-box,  gun,  bag  and  a  lunch  basket.  Mr 
Kincaid's  duck-dog,  named  Curly,  lay  crouched 
in  the  bottom  like  a  soft  warm  mat.  Bobby 
had  met  Curly  before.  He  was  a  comical 
seal-brown  dog,  covered  with  compact  tight 
curls  all  over  his  body.  When  Bobby  petted 
him,  they  felt  springy.  His  face,  head  and 
ears,  however,  were  smooth  and  silky.  He  had 
yellow  eyes,  and  an  engaging  disposition.  To 
the  touch  his  body,  even  through  the  tight  curls, 
felt  unusually  warm.  Though  Curly's  tail  was 
a  mere  stump  he  wagged  it  energetically  when 
his  master  appeared,  but  without  raising  his 
nose  from  between  his  forepaws. 

Duke  pranced  out,  eager  to  go,  but  was  called 
back  by  Mrs.  Orde  and  ignominiously  held. 
Bucephalus  got  under  way.  Bobby  hugged 
the  cold  barrel  of  his  little  rifle  between  his 
knees.  He  had  on  his  "pull-down"  cap,  and 
his  shortest  and  heaviest  cloth  over-jacket, 
and  knit  woollen  mittens.  The  actual  temper- 


THE  MARSHES  171 

ature  was  not  as  yet  very  low,  but  the  wind 
from  the  Lake  was  abroad,  and  growing  in 
strength  every  minute.  From  the  flag-pole  of 
the  Ottawa  they  could  see  the  square  red 
storm-flag  with  the  black  centre  standing  out 
like  a  piece  of  tin. 

Bucephalus  made  surprising  time.  His  gait 
on  the  open  road  was  a  long  awkward  shamble, 
but  it  seemed  to  cover  the  ground.  Mr.  Kin- 
caid  humped  his  shoulders  and  drove  in  a 
sociable  silence,  his  short  pipe  empty  between 
his  teeth.  Curly  retained  his  flattened  attitude 
on  the  bottom  of  the  cart;  only  occasionally 
rolling  up  his  yellow  eyes,  but  without  moving 
his  head.  The  wind  tore  by  them  madly. 

About  half  a  mile  beyond  the  last  mill  Mr. 
Kincaid  left  the  main  road  to  turn  sharp  to  the 
right  directly  across  the  broad  marshes.  Here 
a  makeshift  road  had  been  constructed  of  poles 
laid  in  the  corduroy  fashion.  The  cart  pitched 
and  bounced  along  at  a  foot  pace.  Bobby  had 
no  chance  to  look  about  him,  and  could  see  only 
that  on  both  sides  stretched  the  wide  cat-tails 
and  rush  flats ;  that  near  them  was  water.  The 
sun  was  setting  cold  and  black  in  hard  greasy- 
looking  clouds. 

By  and  by  the  cart  gave  one  last  bump  and 


172  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

rose  to  a  little  dry  knoll  like  an  island  in  the 
marshes.  Bobby  saw  that  on  it  grew  two  elm 
trees,  beneath  which  stood  a  rough  shed. 
Beyond  a  fringe  of  bushes  he  could  make  out 
the  roof  of  another  small  structure.  Mr.  Kin- 
caid  stopped  at  the  shed,  and  began  to  unharness 
Bucephalus.  Bobby  descended  very  stiffly. 
Curly  hopped  out  and  expressed  delight  over 
his  arrival  by  wagging  himself  from  the  fifth 
rib  back.  You  see  he  had  not  tail  enough  for 
the  job,  so  he  had  to  wag  part  of  his  body  too. 
In  a  moment  or  so  Bucephalus  was  tied  in  the 
shed  and  supplied  with  oats  from  a  bag. 

"  Well,  we're  here,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid,  pick 
ing  up  one  of  the  valises  and  the  lunch  basket. 
"Bobby,  you  carry  the  guns." 

He  led  the  way  through  the  bushes  to  the 
other  structure 

It  was  a  cabin  of  boards,  long  and  narrow, 
about  the  size  and  shape  of  a  freight  car.  The 
upper  end  of  it  rested  on  dry  land,  but  the 
lower  end  gave  out  on  a  floating  platform.  A 
single  window  in  the  side  and  a  stove  pipe 
through  the  roof  completed  the  external  features. 

"Door's  around  in  front,"  explained  Mr. 
Kincaid. 

They  descended  to  the  float.     The  door  was 


THE  MARSHES  173 

fastened  by  a  padlock.  When  it  was  opened 
Bobby  saw  at  first  nothing  but  blackness  and 
the  flat  board  prow  of  a  duck-boat  that  seemed 
to  occupy  all  available  space.  Mr.  Kincaid, 
however,  lifted  this  bodily  to  the  float,  and, 
entering,  drew  aside  the  curtain  to  the  little 
window. 

Bobby  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  and 
gazed  about  him  with  unbounded  delight.  The 
place  contained  two  bunks,  one  over  the  other, 
a  small  round  iron  stove,  a  shelf  table  against 
one  wall,  and  two  folding  stools.  From  nails 
hung  a  frying  pan,  a  coffee  pot,  and  two  kettles. 
Shelves  supported  a  number  of  cans,  while 
two  or  three  small  bags  depended  from  the 
ceiling.  Those  were  its  main  furnishings.  But 
beneath  the  bunks  and  piled  in  one  corner  were 
many  painted  wooden  ducks.  Around  the  neck 
of  each  was  wound  a  long  white  cord  to  the  end 
of  which  was  attached  a  leaden  iron  weight: 

O 

in  the  bunks  themselves  lay  powder  canisters, 
shotbags,  wad-boxes.  At  one  end  of  the  table 
was  fastened  a  crimper  and  a  loading  block. 
Several  old  pipes  lay  about.  Burned  matches 
strewed  the  floor. 

"Well,  here  we  are,  Bobby,"  repeated  Mr. 
Kincaid,    dropping   the   valises   in    the   corner, 


174  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"and     it's    pretty    near    sunset;    so     I    guess 
we'll  organize   our   boat   first,   while   it's    day- 

light." 

He  descended  to  the  float. 

"Now,  you  hand  me  down  the  decoys," 
said  he. 

Bobby  passed  out  the  wooden  ducks  two 
by  two,  and  Mr.  Kincaid  stowed  them  care 
fully  amidships.  They  were  of  many  sorts 
and  sizes,  and  Mr.  Kincaid  named  them  to 
Bobby  as  he  received  them. 

"These  are  the  boys!"  said  he.  "Good 
old  green-heads,  Worth  all  the  other  ducks 
put  together.  Their  celery-fed  canvasbacks 
may  be  better  —  never  had  a  chance  to  try  them 
—  but  the  canvas  back  in  this  country  can't 
touch  the  mallards.  And  here,  these  are  blue- 
bill.  They  come  to  a  decoy  almost  too  easy. 
This  is  a  teal  —  fly  like  thunder  and  are  about  as 
big  as  a  grasshopper.  We'll  make  our  flock 
mostly  of  these.  Those  widgeon,  there,  wouldn't 
do  us  much  good.  Might  put  in  a  few  sprig. 
They're  a  handsome  duck,  Bobby;  but  the  most 
beautiful  thing  in  feathers  is  the  wood-duck. 
Probably  won't  get  any  of  them  to-morrow, 
though." 

Bobby  worked  eagerly.     Soon  he  was  in  a 


THE  MARSHES  175 

warm  glow,  the  cold  wind  forgotten,  his  cheeks 
like  snow-apples,  his  eyes  like  stars. 

"That's  just  a  hundred/'  counted  Mr.  Kin- 
caid,  "and  its  a  humming  good  boat  load. 
It'll  do.  Now  you  take  this  demijohn  and  fill 
it  from  the  spring-hole  you'll  find  back  of  the 
house,  and  I'll  get  the  shell-box." 

The  equipment  was  finally  completed  by 
two  wooden  shell-boxes  to  sit  on,  a  short  broad 
paddle  and  a  long  punting  pole. 

By  now  the  sun  had  dipped  below  the  horizon 
leaving  nothing  of  its  glory  in  the  low-hung, 
hard  clouds.  All  the  world  seemed  clad  in 
velvet-gray,  with  dark  soft  shadows.  A  gleam 
of  light  reflected  from  water  as  it  showed 
in  patches  here  and  there.  It  matched  and 
continued  the  pale  green  light  of  the  heavens, 
as  though  the  sky  had  flowed  down  and  through 
the  blackness  of  the  marshes.  The  wind  came 
now  in  heavy  gusts,  succeeded  by  intervals  of 
comparative  calm.  During  these  intervals  could 
be  heard  the  cries  of  innumerable  wildfowl. 

Bobby  stood  at  the  end  of  the  float,  absolutely 
motionless,  taking  it  in.  His  intellectual  facul 
ties  were  as  though  non-existent.  All  the 
sensitiveness  of  his  nature,  like  the  sensi 
tiveness  of  a  photographic  plate,  was  exposed 


176  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

to  that  which  took  place  before  him.  No 
little  detail  of  the  scene  would  he  ever  forget; 
and  nothing  of  what  its  vastness  and  mystery 
and  turmoil  signified  in  the  world  of  further 
meanings  would  be  lost  to  him,  though  for 
many  years  he  would  not  understand  them. 

But  now,  as  the  darkness  of  the  shadows 
deepened,  and  the  light  of  water  and  sky  took 
on  a  deeper  lucence  before  being  extinguished, 
for  the  first  time  the  sense  of  pain  and  the 
incompleteness  of  beautiful  things  entered  his 
heart.  The  thing  was  wonderful;  but  it  hurt. 
The  sight  of  it  filled  him  to  the  lips  with  a 
passion  of  uplift;  and  yet  something  lacked. 
And  the  lack  of  that  something  was  a  pain. 

Bobby  had  forgotten  that  he  was  cold,  that 
he  was  alone,  that  he  had  come  on  an  exciting 
and  novel  expedition.  Mr.  Kincaid  had  dis 
appeared  within  the  cabin. 

A  whistle  of  wings  rushed  in  on  the 
boy's  consciousness  with  startling  sudden 
ness.  Across  the  face  of  the  evening  indeter 
minate,  dark  bodies  darted  low.  A  prolonged 
swish  of  water  sounded,  and  the  placid  faint 
light  on  the  lagoon  fifty  yards  away  was  broken 
and  troubled.  For  a  moment  it  shimmered, 
and  was  still.  Absolute  darkness  seemed 


THE  MARSHES  177 

abruptly  to  descend  on  all  the  world.  From 
the  blackness  Bobby  heard  the  low  conversa 
tional  sounds  of  ducks  newly  alit. 

"Ca-chuck!"  said  they  "ca-tu-kuk!"  and 
then  an  old  drake  lifted  up  his  voice. 

"  Mark! ' '  said  he.     "  Mark-quok,  quok,  quok! ' ' 

"Oh,  Mr.  Kincaid!"  whispered  Bobby  sneak 
ing  quietly  through  the  door.  "  There's  a  great 
big  flock  of  ducks  lit  just  outside." 

"That  so?"  queried  Mr.  Kincaid  cheerfully 
in  his  natural  voice,  "Well,  we'll  get  after  'em 
in  the  morning.  Don't  you  want  any  supper  ?" 

Mr.  Kincaid  had  a  fire  going  in  the  little 
round  stove.  The  light  that  leaked  from  it 
wavered  and  flickered  over  the  bunks  and  the 
table  shelves,  and  the  diminished  pile  of  decoys. 
Curly  was  asleep  in  the  corner.  Every  few 
moments  Mr.  Kincaid  removed  the  frying  pan 
from  the  top  of  the  stove,  and  turned  over  its 
contents  with  a  fork.  At  such  times  the  light 
flared  up  brilliantly,  illuminating  the  whole 
upper  part  of  the  cabin.  A  lively  sizzling 
arose  from  the  frying  pan;  and  a  delicious 
smell  filled  the  air.  Bobby  made  out  a  tea-kettle 
at  the  back,  and  the  phantom  of  light  steam 
issuing  from  its  spout. 

In   a  little  while   Mr.   Kincaid  straightened 


178  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

up  and  with  a  clatter  slid  an  iron  stove  cover 
over  the  opening.  He  lit  a  candle,  stuck  it  in 
the  mouth  of  a  bottle,  and  moved  down  on  the 
table  shelf  carrying  the  frying  pan.  Bobby 
then  saw  that  the  table  shelf  had  been  set  with 
two-heavy  plates,  cutlery,  and  two  granite-ware 
cups.  The  salt-rising  bread  and  dutch  bread 
were  laid  out  with  a  knife  beside  them.  A 
saucer  contained  a  pat  of  butter;  a  bottle,  milk; 
and  a  plate  was  heaped  with  doughnuts. 

"Supper's  ready,"  announced  Mr.  Kincaid 
cheerfully.  "Sit  up,  Bobby." 

The  frying  pan  proved  to  contain  two  gen 
erous  slices  of  ham;  and  four  eggs  fried  crisp. 

"What's  the  matter  with  this  for  a  feast?" 
cried  Mr.  Kincaid;  "sail  in!" 

The  man  and  the  boy  ate,  the  flickering  light 
between  them.  Outside  howled  the  wind. 
Curly  slumbered  peacefully  in  the  corner. 

"This,"  proffered  Mr.  Kincaid  after  an 
interval,  as  he  reached  toward  the  basket,  "is 
what  my  grandfather  used  to  call  a  'good  com 
petent  pie.'  Like  pie,  Bobby?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Bobby,  "but  I  mustn't 
eat  the  under  crust." 

"Right  you  are.  Well,  there's  somebody 
here  who'll  eat  it  for  you." 


THE   MARSHES  179 

"Do  you  want  it  ?"  asked  Bobby,  wondering. 

Mr.  Kincaid  laughed.  "No,  I  mean  Curly," 
he  explained. 

"Will  Curly  eat  pie?"  marvelled  Bobby. 

"Curly,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid  impressively, 
"will  eat  anything  you  can  throw  down  a  hole." 

It  was  a  good  pie,  with  lots  of  room  between 
the  crusts,  and  cinnamon  on  the  apples,  and 
sugar  and  nutmeg  on  top.  When  finally  Mr. 
Kincaid  pushed  back  his  stool,  Curly  gravely 
arose  and  came  forward  to  get  his  share  of 
whatever  had  not  been  eaten. 

"Now,  dishes!"  said  Mr.  Kincaid.  "Will 
you  wash  or  wipe,  Bobby?" 

"My,  I'm  full!"  said  Bobby  in  the  way  of 
indirect  expostulation  against  immediate  activity. 

"The  time  to  wash  dishes  is  right  away," 
said  Mr.  Kincaid  briskly.  "They  wash  easier; 
and  when  they're  done  you  have  a  comfortable 
feeling  that  there's  nothing  more  to  be  done  — 
and  a  clear  conscience.  Did  you  ever  wash 
dishes?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Well,  it's  time  you  learned.     Come  on." 

Bobby  learned  how  to  manipulate  hot  water, 
soap,  and  a  dish-rag.  Also  how  difficult  it  is 
to  remove  some  sorts  of  grease. 


180  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Condemned!"  pronounced  Mr.  Kincaid 
severely,  returning  him  the  frying  pan. 

But  when  the  simple  task  was  done,  Bobby 
felt  an  unusual  glow  of  competence  and  experi 
ence.  He  was  really  "camping  out."  A  new 
ambition  to  learn  came  to  him,  an  ambition 
to  do  his  share  and  to  understand  other  people's 
share.  Naturally  his  mind  turned  first  to 
accustomed  things. 

"Where's  the  wood  pile?"  he  asked  Mr. 
Kincaid.  "Can't  I  fill  the  wood-box?" 

"It's  just  behind  the  house,"  approved  Mr. 
Kincaid. 

Bobby  turned  the  wooden  "button"  that 
fastened  the  door  from  the  inside.  At  once  it 
was  snatched  from  his  hand  and  flung  open. 
A  burst  of  wind  rioted  in,  extinguished  the 
candle,  flaied  up  the  fire  in  the  stove,  and  hurled 
a  loose  reaper  against  the  roof. 

"Whew!"  cried  Mr.  Kincaid,  coming  to 
Bobby's  assistance;  "she's  blowing  some! 
When  you  come  back,  just  kick  on  the  door, 
and  I'll  open  it  for  you." 

Bobby  stood  still  a  moment  until  his  eyes 
should  expand  to  the  darkness.  He  heard  the 
repeated  and  rapid  swish,  swish,  swish,  of 
wavelets  driven  against  the  float,  which  rose 


"CONDEMNED!"  PRONOUNCED  MR,  KINCAID  SEVKRELY,  RETURNING  HIM 
THE  FRYING-PAN 


THE   MARSHES  131 

and  fell  gently  beneath  his  feet.  A  roar  of 
wind  filled  the  night.  Occasionally  it  lulled. 
Then  quite  distinctly  he  could  make  out  a  faint 
grumbling  diapason  which  he  knew  to  be  the 
surges  beating  against  the  distant  coast. 

The  armful  of  wood  he  brought  in  was  not 
very  large,  but  Mr.  Kincaid  pronounced  it 
enough. 

"And  now,  youngster,"  said  he,  "you'd  better 
turn  in.  We're  going  to  get  up  very  early  in 
the  morning." 

For  as  long  as  five  minutes  Bobby  lay  awake 
between  the  soft  woollen  blankets.  This  was 
his  first  experience  without  sheets.  Mr.  Kin 
caid  had  blown  out  the  candle  and  was  sitting 
back  smoking  a  last  pipe.  Light  from  the 
dying  fire  in  the  stove  threw  his  shadow  gigantic 
behind  him.  As  the  flames  rose  or  died  this 
shadow  advanced  or  receded,  leaped  or  fell, 
swelled  or  diminished;  and  all  the  other  shadows 
did  likewise.  In  the  entire  room  Mr.  Kincaid's 
figure  was  the  only  motionless  object.  Soon 
Bobby's  vision  blurred.  The  dancing  shadows 
became  unreal,  changed  to  dream  creatures. 
Twice  a  realization,  a  delicious,  poignant  reali 
zation  of  the  morrow  brought  him  back  to 
consciousness;  and  the  dream  creatures  to  the 


182  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

shadows.  Then  finally  he  drifted  away  with 
only  the  feeling  of  something  pleasant  about 
to  happen,  lying  as  a  background  to  sleep. 

He  awoke  in  what  seemed  to  him  the  middle 
of  the  night  after  an  absolutely  black  sleep. 
His  first  thought  was  that  the  broad  of  his 
back  was  shivering;  his  next  that  the  tip  of 
his  nose  was  marvellous  cold;  his  last  that  he 
was  curled  all  up  in  a  ball  like  a  furry  raccoon. 
Then  he  heard  the  scratch  of  a  match.  A  light 
immediately  flickered.  In  two  minutes  the 
little  stove  was  roaring  and  Mr.  Kincaid  was 
exhorting  him  to  arise. 

"Come  on,  now!"  he  called.     "Duck  time!" 

Bobby  dressed  in  his  thickest  winter  clothes, 
which  he  had  brought  for  the  occasion.  When, 
after  breakfast,  he  put  on  his  reefer  and  over 
that  the  canvas  coat,  he  looked  and  felt  like  a 
cocoon. 

"That's  all  right,"  Mr.  Kincaid  reassured 
him.  "It's  going  to  be  cold,  and  you'll  be 
mighty  glad  of  them." 

They  stepped  out  on  the  float,  and  Mr.  Kin 
caid  thrust  the  duck-boat  into  the  water. 

Bobby  had  never  seen  so  many  stars.  The 
heavens  were  full  of  them,  and  the  still  water 
had  its  share.  Not  a  breath  of  wind  was 


THE   MARSHES  183 

stirring.  Through  the  silence  could  be  heard 
more  plainly  the  roar  of  the  surf  far  away.  The 
quacking  of  ducks  came  from  near  and  far. 
Nothing  of  the  marsh  was  visible. 

Bobby  took  his  place  on  the  shell-box  in  the 
bow,  his  rifle  between  his  knees.  Curly,  with 
out  awaiting  command,  jumped  in  and  lay 
at  his  feet.  Mr.  Kincaid  stepped  in  aft.  Bobby 
could  feel  the  quiver  of  the  boat  as  it  took  the 
weight,  but  having  been  instructed  to  sit  quiet, 
he  did  not  look  around.  The  craft  received  an 
impetus  and  moved  forward.  Immediately  the 
breaking  of  thin  scum  ice  set  up  a  crackling. 

"Pretty   cold!"    said   Bobby. 

"Don't  talk,"  replied  Mr.  Kincaid  in  a 
guarded  voice. 

They  moved  forward  in  silence.  Only  the 
slight  crackling  at  the  prow,  the  soft  dip  of  the 
paddle,  and  an  occasional  breath  of  effort  from 
the  paddler  broke  the  stillness.  The  motion 
forward  was  slow;  for  the  back  suction  in  the 
shallow,  narrow  channel,  which  they  almost 
immediately  entered,  stopped  the  boat  at  the 
end  of  each  paddle  stroke.  Bobby  was  vaguely 
aware  of  high  reeds  or  low  banks  on  either 
side;  but  he  could  not  see  ten  feet  ahead,  and 
he  wondered  how  Mr.  Kincaid  could  tell  where 


184  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

to  go.  Shortly  the  latter  put  aside  his  paddle 
in  favour  of  the  punting  pole.  Bobby,  stealing 
a  glance  over  his  shoulder,  saw  him  standing 
against  the  sky. 

From  right  and  left,  in  mysterious  side 
lagoons  and  pockets,  came  the  low  quacking 
and  chattering  of  wildfowl,  now  close  at  hand. 
They  were,  of  course,  quite  invisible;  but  their 
proximity  was  exciting.  Twice  the  duck-boat 
approached  so  close  as  to  alarm  them  into  flight. 
They  arose,  then,  with  a  mighty  quacking. 
Bobby  could  see  the  silver  of  broken  water  where 
they  took  wing;  but  although  there  seemed  to 
be  enough  light  against  the  sky,  he  could  not 
make  out  the  birds  themselves.  He  clasped 
his  rifle  close,  and  shivered  with  delight,  and 
patted  Curly  to  relieve  his  feelings. 

For  a  long  time,  and  for  a  tremendous  distance 
as  it  seemed  to  Bobby  they  crept  along  through 
the  lagoons  and  channels  of  the  marshes.  The 
dawn  had  not  come  yet,  but  the  air  was  getting 
grayer  in  anticipation  of  it,  and  the  wind  began 
to  blow  faintly  from  the  direction  of  the  Lake. 
Bobby  could  see  the  shapes  of  the  grasses  and 
cat-tails,  and  make  out  the  bodies  of  water 
through  which  they  passed.  Almost  he  could 
catch  the  flight  of  ducks  as  they  leaped;  and 


THE   MARSHES  185 

quite  distinctly  he  saw  a  flash  of  teal  that  passed 
with  a  startling  rush  of  wings  within  a  dozen 
feet  of  the  boat. 

And  then  deliberately  the  whole  universe 
turned  faintly  gray,  and  the  smaller  stars  faded 
in  the  lucence  of  dawn,  and  the  brief,  weird 
world  of  half-light  came  into  being.  At  the 
same  moment,  Mr.  Kincaid  turned  the  boat 
to  the  left,  forced  it  by  main  strength  through 
a  thick  fringe  of  reeds,  and  debouched  on  a 
little  round  pond  silvering  in  the  dawn. 

The  crackling  of  the  duck-boat  through  the 
reeds  was  answered  by  a  roar  like  the  breaking 
of  a  great  wave.  Bobby  saw  very  dimly  the 
rise  of  hundreds  of  ducks  straight  up  into  the 
air.  The  roar  of  the  first  leap  was  immediately 
succeeded  by  the  whistling  of  flight. 

"My!"  breathed  Bobby  to  Curly,  "My!  My! 
My!" 

But  a  second  roar  thundered,  as  a  second  and 
larger  flight  took  wing;  and  then  after  an  inter 
val  a  third.  The  air  all  around  seemed  full  of 
ducks  circling  in  and  out  the  limited  range  of 
vision  before  finally  taking  their  departure. 

Mr.  Kincaid,  however,  pushed  forward  with 
out  paying  the  slightest  attention  to  this  abun 
dance.  Fifteen  or  twenty  yards  out  in  the  pond 


186  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

he  brought  the  boat  to  a  stand-still  by  thrusting 
his  punting-pole  far  down  into  the  mud. 

"We're  here,  Bobby,"  he  said  in  a  guarded 
tone.  "Turn  around  very  carefully,  take  off 
your  mittens  and  help  me  put  out  the 
decoys." 

"My,  there's  a  lot  of  'em,"  ventured  Bobby 
in  a  whisper. 

"Yes,  this  is  called  the  Mud  Hen  Hole.  It's 
the  best  place  in  the  marshes.  Quick!  Get 
to  work!  It's  getting  near  daylight!" 

Bobby  helped  unwind  the  cords  from  around 
the  necks  of  the  decoys  and  drop  them  over 
board.  Mr.  Kincaid  moved  the  boat  here  and 
there,  scattering  the  flock  in  a  life-like  manner. 
The  gray  daylight  was  coming  stronger  every 
instant.  Even  while  they  worked  in  plain  sight, 
big  flocks  of  teal  and  blue-bill  stooped  toward 
them  and  whirled  around  them  with  a  rush 
of  wings. 

"They're  awful  close!"  whispered  Bobby 
excitedly,  "why  don't  you  shoot?" 

"Hurry!"   commanded   Mr.    Kincaid. 

When  the  last  decoy  was  out,  he  thrust  the 
boat  hastily  into  the  thick  reeds  where  already 
a  blind  had  been  constructed  quite  simply  by 
thickening  the  natural  growth.  "Crouch 


THE  MARSHES  187 

down!"  whispered  Mr.  Kincaid;  "and  don't 
move  a  muscle!" 

Bobby  crouched,  drawing  his  head  between 
his  shoulders  like  a  mud-turtle.  Curly  crouched 
too.  Above  and  around  was  the  continued 
whistle  of  wings  as  the  wildfowl,  with  their 
strange,  early-morning  persistence,  insisted  on 
returning  to  the  spot  whence  they  had  been  so 
lately  disturbed.  A  movement  shook  the  boat 
as  Mr.  Kincaid  arose  to  his  feet. 

Bang!  Bang!  spoke  both  barrels  of  the  ten- 
gauge. 

"Two,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid  in  his  natural  voice. 

"Kneel  around  to  face  the  decoys,  Bobby, 
and  you  can  see.  But  when  I  say  'mark,'  don't 
move  by  a  hair's  breadth." 

Bobby  shifted  position  and  found  that  he 
could  see  quite  easily  through  the  interstices  of 
the  reeds.  On  the  pond,  silvered  bright  by  the 
increasing  day,  the  decoys  floated  snugly.  Even 
at  close  range  Bobby  was  surprised  at  their  life 
like  appearance.  Among  them  floated  two 
ducks,  white  bellies  to  the  sky.  This  was  all 
Bobby  had  time  to  observe  for  the  moment. 

"Mark!"  warned  Mr.  Kincaid  behind  him. 

A  tremendous  tenseness  fell  on  the  world. 
Bobby's  muscles  stiffened  to  the  point  of  aching. 


188  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

The  limited  vista  bounded  on  right  and  left 
by  the  sidewise  movement  of  his  eyeballs,  and 
above  by  the  brim  of  his  cap  contained  nothing. 
He  did  not  dare  extend  this  vista  by  so  much 
as  one  inch.  But  in  the  air  sounded  that  magic 
soul-stirring  whistle  of  wings,  now  gaining  in 
volume  until  it  seemed  overhead;  now  fading 
until  Bobby  thought  surely  the  ducks  must  have 
become  suspicious  and  left. 

And  then,  low  to  the  reeds  across  the  pond,  a 
long  deliberate  flight  of  black  bodies  against  the 
sky  came  into  sight  at  the  left,  slanted  across  the 
field  of  his  vision  and  disappeared  to  the  right. 
Their  wings  were  set,  and  every  instant  Bobby  ex 
pected  to  hear  the  splash  of  water  that  should 
indicate  their  alighting.  But  Mr.  Kincaid's  figure 
held  its  immobility.  He  knew  that  the  wily  old 
mallards  were  not  yet  satisfied.  Indeed  at  the 
last  moment,  instead  of  swinging  in,  they  arose 
with  a  sudden  swift  effort,  and  resumed  the  slow 
scrutinizing  circle  about  the  pond. 

Bobby  lived  an  eternity  in  the  next  few 
moments.  His  neck  muscles  grew  stiff;  his 
eyeballs  strained  from  a  constant  attempt  to 
see  farther  to  one  side  than  nature  had  intended 
him  to  see.  Each  circle  he  followed  visually 
as  far  as  he  could,  and  then  aurally,  his  hopes 


THE  MARSHES  189 

arising  and  falling  as  the  whistling  of  the  wings 
sounded  near  or  far.  And  each  circle  was  lower 
than  its  predecessor,  until  at  last  the  flight  swung 
scarcely  twenty  feet  above  the  tops  of  the  reeds. 

Then,  quite  unexpectedly  to  Bobby,  and  when 
at  its  farthest  from  the  blind,  the  flock  turned  in 
and  headed  directly  for  him,  its  wings  set. 

Bobby  caught  his  breath,  and  his  heart  com 
menced  to  thump  violently.  Not  a  bird  of 
them  all  seemed  to  move,  and  yet  with  the 
rush  of  a  railroad  train  each  individual  grew  in 
size  like  magic.  It  was  just  like  coasting  — 
the  same  breathless  headlong  feeling  —  that 
quivering  avalanche  of  ducks  projected  at  his 
head  so  abruptly  and  so  swiftly  that  he  hardly 
had  time  to  wink.  Nearer  and  nearer  they 
came,  larger  and  larger  they  grew.  Something 
inside  him  seemed  to  expand  like  a  bubble  w^ith 
their  approach;  like  a  bubble  too  rapidly  blown, 
so  that  at  once,  without  warning,  the  bursting 
point  seemed  to  be  reached.  Instinctively 
Bobby  shrank  back.  The  moment  of  collision 
was  imminent.  Nothing  could  stop  this  head 
long  flight  of  living  arrows  launched  against  his 
very  face.  And  then,  in  a  flash,  the  appearance 
of  the  flock  changed.  As  though  at  a  precon 
certed  signal  each  duck  dropped  his  legs,  threw 


190  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

back  his  head,  opposed  to  momentum  the 
breadth  of  his  wings  and  tail.  An  indescribable 
and  sudden  rushing  sound  smote  the  air.  The 
flock,  its  course  arrested,  hung  motionless 
above  the  decoys  in  the  attitude  of  alighting. 

At  this  precise  instant  Mr.  Kincaid,  without 
haste,  smoothly  got  to  his  feet.  Involuntarily 
Bobby  arose  also.  Curly,  who  up  to  this 
instant  had  even  kept  his  yellow  eyes  closed, 
put  his  forepaws  on  the  gunwale,  and  craned  his 
neck  upward  the  better  to  see. 

Immediately  with  a  mighty  beating  of  wings 
the  ducks  "towered."  It  was  almost  incredible, 
the  rapidity  with  which,  from  a  dead  stand, 
they  broke  into  the  swiftest  flight  —  and  straight 
up.  Bobby  could  see  them  plainly,  in  every 
detail,  the  beautiful  iridescent  green  heads  of 
the  drakes,  stretched  eagerly  upward,  the  dove 
and  the  cinnamon  of  the  breasts,  the  white 
bellies  snowy  against  the  sky.  The  gun  spoke 
twice.  Instantly  three  of  the  outstretched  necks 
seemed  to  wilt.  For  a  brief  moment  the  bodies 
hung  in  the  air;  then  plunged  downward  with 
increasing  speed  until  they  hit  with  an  inspir 
ing  splash,  splash,  splash!  that  threw  the  water 
high.  There  they  floated  belly  up.  The 
orange-coloured  leg  of  one  kicked  slowly  twice. 


THE  MARSHES  191 

"  Mallard !"  said  Mr.  Kincaid  with  satisfaction. 

Curly  looked  inquiringly  at  his  master,  then 
dropped  back  to  his  former  position  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat.  Bobby  settled  himself  on 
his  shell-box 

Swish!-  —he  peered  out  startled  and  there 
among  the  decoys  swam  a  dozen  little  ducks, 
their  heads  up,  their  brights  eyes  glancing  sus 
piciously  from  one  to  another  of  their  stolid 
wooden  relations.  Before  Bobby  could  realize 
that  they  were  there,  they  had  made  up  their 
minds;  and,  with  the  same  abruptness  that 
had  characterized  their  arrival,  sprang  into 
the  air  and  departed.  Not,  however,  before 
Mr.  Kincaid  had  shot. 

"Only  one,"  said  he.  "They're  a  lively 
proposition." 

"What  are  they?"  asked  Bobby. 

"Teal.  They  often  fly  low  just  over  the 
marsh,  and  drop  in  unexpectedly  like  that." 

Daylight  was  full  and  broad  now;  and  the 
sun  was  rising.  With  it  came  the  first  signs  of 
wind.  Ducks  filled  the  air  in  all  directions, 
some  circling  about  other  ponds;  others  wing 
ing  their  way  in  long  flights  toward  distant 
feeding  grounds.  Every  fe\v  moments  Mr. 
Kincaid  had  a  shot  as  some  of  these  dropped  to 


192  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

the  decoys.     Sometimes  they  came  down  boldly 
in  an  attempt  to  alight ;  at  others  they  merely 
stooped,  and  flew  by.     These  offered  difficult 
side  shots  at  long  range.     Always  the  mallards 
made    their    wide    circles    of    inspection;  but 
always  Mr.  Kincaid  waited  patiently  for  them, 
ignoring    absolutely    other    ducks    that    in    the 
meantime    lit    among   the   decoys.     Big   flocks 
of  teal  manoeuvred  back  and   forth   erratically 
like  blackbirds,   wheeling,   turning,   rising  and 
darting  without  apparent  reason  but  as  though 
at  the  word  of  command.     The  high  buzz  of 
their  wings  was  quite  different  from  the  whistling 
flight  of  the  larger  ducks.     One  of  these  bands 
came    within    range,    but    without    attempting 
to    alight.     Into    the    compact    formation    Mr. 
Kincaid   emptied   both   barrels.     Instantly   the 
air    seemed    to    Bobby   full    of    ducks    falling. 
They  hit  the  water  like  huge  rain  drops.     Bobby 
could    not    begin    to    keep    count;     but    Mr. 
Kincaid     said     nine.      Among    them    was    a 
broken-winged   cripple,   which   at    once   began 
to    swim  toward   the  rushes  on  the  other  side 
the  pond. 

"Fetch,   Curly!"  commanded  Mr.   Kincaid. 

Curly,  with  a  whimper  of  delight,  plunged 
into  the  icy  water,  and  with  astonishing  speed 


THE  MARSHES  193 

overtook  and  seized  the  wounded  duck.  He 
returned  proudly  carrying  his  prize ;  was  handed 
in  over  the  gunwale;  shook  himself  like  a  lawn 
sprinkler;  and  resettled  himself  in  the  bottom 
of  the  boat.  Curly  was  a  quiet  and  reserved 
character.  His  specialty  was  lying  still,  and 
swimming  after  ducks.  The  rest  of  life  did  not 
interest  him. 

Now  little  by  little  the  flight  slackened. 
Longer  intervals  ensued  between  the  visits  to 
the  decoys.  The  sky  was  occasionally  quite 
clear  of  ducks,  so  that  for  a  few  moments  Mr. 
Kincaid  and  Bobby  would  rise  to  stretch  their 
legs.  Always  they  kept  a  sharp  lookout  in  all 
directions,  and  at  the  first  sight  of  game,  even 
so  far  away  in  the  sky  it  looked  like  a  flock  of 
specks,  they  would  drop  down  into  concealment. 
This  was  something  Bobby  could  do;  and  he 
was  always  overjoyed  when  he  caught  sight  of 
the  ducks  first;  and  could  say  "mark  east" 
or  west  or  whatever  it  was  —  as  Mr.  Kincaid 
taught  him. 

Sometimes  the  ducks  passed  far  away;  but 
again  the  direction  of  their  flight  brought  them 
within  hearing  distance  of  the  blind.  Then 
Mr.  Kincaid  produced  his  duck-call,  and  uttered 
through  it  the  most  natural  duck  sounds. 


194  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Quack!"  it  said  sharply,  and  then  after  the 
briefest  possible  pause.  "  Quok-quok-quok- 
quok-quok!"  in  increasing  rapidity.  It  was 
quite  remarkable  to  observe  how  the  flock, 
apparently  with  a  fixed  destination  of  its  own, 
would  hesitate,  waver,  finally  swing  down  to 
investigate.  At  this,  Mr.  Kincaid's  call  became 
confidential  and  intimate.  It  uttered  all  sorts 
of  clucks  and  half-notes,  telling,  probably,  of 
the  manifold  advantages  of  feed  and  shelter 
offered  by  this  particular  pond.  Then  came 
the  slow  circles  ending  with  the  final  breathless, 
level- winged  rush. 

But  presently,  as  the  sun  mounted  higher  and 
higher,  even  these  flights  ceased.  Mr.  Kincaid 
lit  his  pipe.  Curly  made  trip  after  trip,  carrying 
in  the  game. 

"Fun?"  enquired  Mr.  Kincaid  succinctly. 

"I  should  think  so!"  breathed  Bobby  with 
rapture. 

They  sat  opposite  each  other  in  the  sociable 
silence  that  seemed  to  come  so  easily  to  them. 
The  wind  had  risen  again,  until  now  it  had  once 
more  attained  the  proportions  of  a  respectable 
gale.  Bobby  liked  to  watch  the  brisk  puffs 
as  they  hit,  spread  in  a  fan-shaped  ruffle  of  dark 
water  and  skittered  away.  In  the  miniature 


THE   MARSHES  195 

wavelets  possible  under  the  lea,  the  decoys 
bobbed  gravely,  swinging  to  their  anchor  strings. 
The  sun  flashed  from  their  backs,  and  from  the 
little  waves.  All  about  were  the  tall  stalks  of 
reeds;  and  ahead,  where  the  open  water  was, 
grew  tufts  of  grasses  that  looked  silvery-brown 
and  somehow  intimate  when,  as  now,  Bobby 
looked  at  them  from  their  own  plane  of  elevation. 
They  waved  and  bent  before  the  wind,  and  the 
reeds  across  the  pond  bowed  and  recovered; 
and  over  the  low,  flat  landscape  seemed  to  hover 
a  brown,  untamed  spirit  of  wildness. 

But,  though  the  wind  blew  a  gale,  the  duck- 
boat  was  so  snugly  hidden  that  hardly  a  breath 
reached  its  occupants.  The  warm  rays  of  the 
sun  shone  full  down  upon  them,  first  driving 
the  early  chill  from  Bobby's  bones,  then  making 
him  sleepy.  He  fell  into  a  delicious  lethargy, 
running  over  drowsily  the  small  details  of  his 
immediate  surroundings.  In  the  course  of  a 
few  hours  this  cosy  nest  which  he  had  never  seen 
before  had  become  strangely  familiar.  He 
experienced  a  sense  of  personal  acquaintance 
ship  with  many  of  the  individual  reeds;  he 
recognized,  as  one  recognizes  an  accustomed 
landscape,  the  angle  at  which  certain  clumps 
crossed  one  another;  or  the  vistas  allowed  b} 


196  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

the  different  interstices.  A  marsh  wren  had 
business  among  the  galleries.  Bobby  watched 
it  hop  in  and  out  of  sight,  sometimes  right  side 
up,  sometimes  upside  down.  A  dozen  times  he 
thought  it  had  gone;  but  always  it  came  back, 
flirting  its  absurd  short  tail,  one  bright  eye  fixed 
on  the  occupants  of  the  blind.  When  Bobby 
slipped  still  further  into  the  warm  bright  land 
of  laziness,  he  abandoned  even  the  effort  of 
observation,  and  amused  himself  by  sifting  rain 
bows  through  his  eye-lashes. 

"Bobby!"  whispered  Mr.  Kincaid  sharply. 

He  came  to  with  a  start,  rapping  his  knee 
against  the  gunwale  of  the  boat.  Mr.  Kincaid 
held  his  hand  up  warningly,  then  pointed 
toward  the  decoys.  Bobby  looked,  and  saw, 
preening  its  feathers  calmly,  a  live  duck  rising 
to  the  wavelets.  Mr.  Kincaid  handed  over  two 
22-short  cartridges. 

Bobby's  breath  caught  with  a  gasp.  His 
fingers  trembling,  he  opened  the  breach  of  the 
Flobert  and  loaded;  then  cautiously  thrusting 
the  muzzle  through  an  opening  in  the  reeds, 
tried  to  aim.  But  his  heart  was  thumping 
like  a  hammer,  and  do  his  best  he  could  not 
hold  the  wavering  sights  in  alignment.  In 
vain  he  recalled  all  the  many  principles  of 


THE  MARSHES  197 

accurate  shooting  he  had  so  laboriously  acquired 
in  his  target  practice.  Finally  in  desperation 
he  pulled  the  trigger.  The  duck,  with  a  startled 
quack,  sprang  into  the  air. 

"Got  one!"  chuckled  Mr.  Kincaid.  "That 
furtherest  decoy,"  he  replied  to  Bobby's 
unspoken  question.  "Saw  the  splinters  fly. 
Must  have  over-shot  three  feet." 

Bobby,  carrying  with  him  the  bitterest  pos 
sible  cud  of  failure,  retired  within  himself  and 
gloomed  angrily  at  the  situation  from  all  points 
of  view.  He  was  completely  out  of  conceit 
with  himself.  After  he  had  finished  his  per 
formance,  he  naturally  took  to  reviewing  it 
and  recasting  it  in  terms  of  success.  If  he'd 
only  shot  at  first,  before  he  lost  his  breath! 
If  he'd  only  remembered  to  get  his  hand 
away  around  the  grip  of  the  rifle!  If  he'd 
only 

As  though  to  test  these  theories,  the  Red 
Gods  at  this  moment  vouchsafed  him  a  wonder 
ful  favour.  As  he  frowned  steadily  between 
the  reeds,  his  attention  was  dragged  by  a  mov 
ing  object  from  its  abstractions  tQ  that  which  he 
gazed  on  so  unseeingly.  He  came  to  alertness 
with  a  snap.  A  duck  flying  not  a  foot  above 
the  water  swung  in  an  awkward  circle  and  lit 


198  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

with  a  long  furrowing  splash  not  forty  feet 
away. 

Bobby  glanced  toward  Mr.  Kincaid.  The 
latter  was  gazing  at  the  sky,  his  hands  clasped 
behind  his  head.  Cautiously  Bobby  reloaded 
with  the  other  cartridge,  and  again  thrust  the 
rifle  muzzle  between  the  reeds.  His  entire 
mind  was  now  occupied  by  a  vengeful  spirit 
against  himself  because  of  his  first  miss.  There 
fore  he  had  no  room  for  self-consciousness  or 
nervousness.  The  sights  aligned  with  precision, 
and  held  rigidly  on  the  mark.  His  teeth  set, 
Bobby  pulled  the  trigger. 

Instantly  the  duck  fell  on  its  side,  and,  beat 
ing  the  \vater  frantically  with  its  wings,  began 
to  kick  around  in  a  circle. 

"I  got  him!  I  got  him!  Oh,  he'll  get 
away!"  screeched  Bobby  in  a  breath. 

At  the  crack  of  the  rifle  Mr.  Kincaid  had 
leaped  to  his  feet  with  surprising  agility. 

"Well,  good  boy!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  should 
say  you  did  get  him!  He  won't  get  away; 
he's  hit  in  the  head." 

"Is  that  the  way  they  act  when  they're  hit 
in  the  head?"  asked  Bobby,  still  doubtful. 

"Yes.     Fetch  him,  Curly." 

Bobby  took   the   duck  from   Curly's   mouth 


THE   MARSHES  199 

and  held  him  up  by  the  bill  to  drain  the  water, 
just  as  he  had  seen  Mr.  Kincaid  do.  Then  he 
laid  his  prize  across  the  bow  and  gloated. 

It  was  a  very  beautiful  duck,  with  an  erect 
topknot  of  white  edged  with  black  running 
over  the  top  of  its  head  like  the  plume  of  a 
Grecian  helmet.  The  sides  of  its  white  breast 
were  covered  with  feathers  of  a  bright  cinnamon 
tipped  with  gray;  its  back  was  black  and  gray 
with  fine  black  edgings;  and  its  wings  were 
dark  with  a  white  and  iridescent  band  on  each. 
But  what  interested  Bobby  especially  was  its 
bill.  This  differed  entirely  from  the  bills  of 
all  the  other  ducks.  It  was  very  long  and  very 
slender  and  had  teeth! 

"What  kind  is  it?"  asked  Bobby  looking  up 
to  encounter  Mr.  Kincaid's  amused  gaze. 

"  Well  — it's  called  a  merganser  in  the  books," 
said  Mr.  Kincaid. 

"I'm  going  to  have  mama  cook  it," 
announced  Bobby,  and  returned  to  his  bliss 
ful  contemplation. 

Mr.  Kincaid  grinned  quietly  to  himself.  He 
would  not  spoil  the  little  boy's  pleasure  by  telling 
him  that  his  first  trophy  was  a  fish-duck,  and, 
beautiful  as  it  was,  utterly  useless. 

No  more  ducks  came  for  a  long  time  after 


200  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

that.  The  wind  continued  to  increase,  blowing 
from  a  clear  sky,  without  scuds.  By  and  by 
Mr.  Kincaid  produced  a  package  of  lunch,  and 
they  ate,  drinking  in  turn  from  the  demijohn 
that  Bobby  had  filled  the  night  before.  The 
sun  swung  up  overhead,  and  down  the  westward 
slope.  With  the  advance  of  afternoon  came 
more,  but  scattered,  ducks  rushing  down  the 
wind  at  railroad  speed,  to  wheel  sometimes 
into  the  teeth  of  it  like  yachts  rounding  to  as 
they  caught  sight  of  the  decoys.  When  the 
sun  wTas  low  and  red,  thousands  of  blackbirds 
began  to  fly  by  in  an  unbroken  succession,  low 
to  the  reeds,  uttering  their  chattering  and  liquid 
calls.  So  numerous  were  they  that  the  entire 
outlook  seemed  filled  with  the  crossing  lines 
of  their  flight,  until  Bobby's  eyes  were  bewil 
dered,  and  he  could  not  tell  whether  he  saw 
blackbirds  near  at  hand  or  ducks  farther  away. 
Whence  they  had  come  or  whither  they  wrere 
going  he  could  not  guess;  but  that  they  had 
some  definite  objective  he  could  not  doubt. 
Out  from  the  gray  distances  of  the  east  they 
appeared;  laboured  by  against  the  gale; 
and  disappeared  into  the  red  distances  of  the 
west. 

Now  the  evening  flight  of  ducks  was  on  in 


THE  MARSHES  201 

earnest,  and  the  warm  excitement  of  decoy- 
shooting  again  gripped  hard  all  three  occupants 
of  the  boat.  Over  the  wide  marshes  spread 
the  brief  crimson  of  evening.  The  sun  set 
and  dusk  came  on.  It  was  first  indicated,  even 
before  a  perceptible  diminution  of  daylight,  by 
the  vivid  flashes  from  the  gun.  Then  the  low 
western  horizon  turned  to  a  dark  band  between 
sky  and  water,  and  the  heavens  immediately 
above  took  on  a  pale  green  lucence  of  infinite 
depth. 

"More  wind,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid,  glancing 
at  it. 

Finally,  although  it  was  still  possible  plainly 
to  see  the  incoming  ducks  against  the  sky,  Mr. 
Kincaid  laid  aside  his  gun  and  picked  up  the 
punt-pole. 

"Mustn't  shoot  much  after  sun-down,"  he 
told  Bobby.  "If  we  do,  there  won't  be  any 
here  in  the  morning.  Nothing  drives  the  duck 
off  the  marshes  quicker  than  evening  shooting." 

He  pushed  the  duck-boat  out  into  the  open. 
Instantly  the  weight  of  the  wind  became  evident. 
Although  on  the  lea  side  of  the  pond,  the  light 
boat  drifted  forward  rapidly;  and  Bobby  had 
to  snatch  suddenly  for  his  cap.  Mr.  Kincaid 
snubbed  her  at  the  edge  of  the  flock  of  decoys. 


202  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Pick  'em  up,  Bobby,"  said  he.  "You'll 
have  to  do  it,  while  I  hold  the  boat." 

Bobby  lifted  the  nearest  decoy  out  of  the  water 
and,  under  direction,  wound  the  anchor  line 
around  its  neck  and  stowed  it  away.  This  was 
easy.  Also  the  next  and  the  next. 

But  by  the  time  he  had  lifted  the  tenth  he 
had  discovered  a  number  of  things.  That  a 
wooden  decoy  is  heavy  to  lift  at  arm's  length 
over  the  gunwale;  that  it  brings  with  it  con 
siderable  water;  that  the  anchor  lines  carry 
with  them  a  surprisingly  greater  quantity  of 
water;  that  the  water  is  very  cold;  that  said 
cold  water  causes  the  flesh  to  puff  up,  the  hands 
to  turn  numb,  and  the  fingers  to  ache.  This 
was  disagreeable;  and  Bobby  had  not  been  in 
the  habit  of  continuing  to  do  things  after  they 
had  become  disagreeable. 

"My,  but  this  is  awful  cold  work!"  said  he. 

Mr.  Kincaid  looked  at  him. 

"You  aren't  going  to  quit,  are  you?"  he 
asked. 

Bobby  had  not  thought  of  it  with  this  definite- 
ness. 

When  the  issue  was  thus  squarely  presented 
to  him,  his  reply  of  course,  was  in  the  negative. 
But  the  night  got  darker  and  darker;  the  decoys 


THE   MARSHES  203 

heavier  and  heavier;  the  water  colder  and 
colder.  Little  by  little  the  glory  of  the  day  was 
draining  away.  Mr.  Kincaid,  leaning  strongly 
against  the  punt-pole,  watched  him  for  some 
time  in  silence. 

44 Pretty  hard  work?"  he  enquired  at  last. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Bobby  miserably. 

"Why    is  it  hard?" 

Bobby  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"Because  the  water  is  so  cold,  and  the  decoys 
are  hard  to  lift  over  the  edge,"  he  answered 
presently. 

"No;  it's  not  that,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid,  "It's 
because  you're  thinking  about  how  many  more 
there  are  to  do." 

Bobby  stopped  work  in  the  interest  of  this 
idea. 

"If  you're  going  to  be  a  hunter  —  or  any 
thing  else" — went  on  Mr.  Kincaid  after  a 
moment,  "you're  going  to  have  lots  of  cold 
work,  and  hard  work  and  disagreeable  work 
to  do  —  things  that  you  can't  finish  in  a  minute, 
either,  but  that  may  last  all  day  —  or  all  the 
week.  And  you'll  have  to  do  it.  If  you  get 
to  thinking  of  how  long  it's  going  to  take,  you'll 
find  that  you  will  have  a  tough  time,  and  that 
probably  it  won't  be  done  very  well,  either. 


204  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

Don't  think  of  how  much  there  is  stiil  to  do; 
think  of  how  much  you  have  done.  Then  it'll 
surprise  you  how  soon  it  will  be  finished." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Bobby. 

"Now  pick  'em  up,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid,  "one 
at  a  time.  Don't  begin  to  pick  up  the  next 
one  before  you  get  this  one  out  of  the  water." 

Bobby  went  at  it  grimly,  trying  to  keep  in 
mind  Mr.  Kincaid's  advice.  The  task  was  as 
disagreeable,  and  apparently  as  interminable  as 
ever,  but  Bobby  had  gained  this:  he  had  not 
now,  even  hi  the  subconscious  background  of 
his  mind,  any  desire  to  quit;  and  there  no  longer 
pressed  upon  the  weight  and  cold  of  the  decoy 
he  was  at  the  moment  handling,  the  useless  and 
imaginary,  but  real,  cold  and  weight  of  all  the 
decoys  yet  to  be  lifted. 

Nevertheless  he  was  very  glad  when  the  last 
had  found  its  place  on  the  pile  amidship. 

"Good  boy!"  said  Mr.  Kincaid.  "Now 
it's  all  over." 

It  was  somewhat  after  twilight;  although 
objects  about  were  still  to  be  made  out  in  the 
unearthly  half-illumination  that  precedes  star 
light.  Mr.  Kincaid  lifted  his  punt-pole  and 
allowed  the  duck-boat  to  be  carried  down  wind 
to  the  other  side  of  the  pond.  Here  floated 


THE   MARSHES  205 

the  dead  ducks.  They  were  lying  all  along 
the  edges  of  the  reeds,  their  white  bellies  plainly 
to  be  seen.  After  all  those  in  sight  had 
been  picked  up,  Curly  was  allowed  a  short 
search  on  his  own  account.  It  made  Bobby 
shiver  to  see  him  plunge  into  the  icy  water; 
but  Curly  did  not  mind.  He  found  two  more 
inside  the  reeds;  then  was  hauled  over  the 
gunwale  and  settled  himself  happily,  wet  fur 
and  all,  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

The  homeward  trip  seemed  to  Bobby  inter 
minable.  He  was  very  cold;  his  fingers  ached; 
the  anticipations  of  the  day  had  all  been  used. 
The  sudden  rise  of  waterfowl  near  at  hand 
aroused  in  him  no  excitement;  their  presence 
was  just  now  useless  from  the  shooting 
standpoint. 

"We  might  try  the  big  slough  to-morrow," 
said  Mr.  Kincaid,  more  as  an  audible  thought 
than  as  a  remark  to  Bobby. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  to-morrow,"  said  Bobby. 

In  spite  of  Mr.  Kincaid's  advice,  he  could 
not  prevent  himself  from  anticipating  the  arrival 
at  the  cabin-float.  A  dozen  little  bends  he 
mentally  designated  as  the  last  before  the  lagoon ; 
and  each  disappointment  came  to  him  as  a 
personal  affront. 


206  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

But  finally,  when  he  had  fallen  into  the 
indifference  of  misery,  the  two  elms  loomed  in 
silhouette  against  the  skyline. 

Mr.  Kincaid  held  the  boat  while  Bobby 
stepped  ashore;  then  made  it  fast,  and,  with 
out  bothering  with  the  game,  opened  the  hut 
and  lit  the  candle.  Bobby  sat  down  dully.  He 
had  no  further  interest  in  life.  Mr.  Kincaid 
glanced  at  his  disconsolate  little  figure  humped 
over  on  the  stool,  and  smiled  grimly  beneath 
his  moustache.  But  he  made  no  comment; 
and  set  about  immediate  construction  of  a  fire. 

Bobby  relapsed  into  a  dull  lethargy  which 
took  absolutely  no  account  of  space  or  time. 
The  shadows  danced  and  flickered  against  the 
wall.  He  saw  them,  but  as  something  outside 
the  real  centre  of  his  consciousness.  The  wind 
howled  by  in  gusts  that  shook  the  structure; 
Bobby  did  not  care  if  it  blew  the  whole  thing 
over! 

"Come,  Bobby!  Supper!"  Mr.  Kincaid 
broke  in  on  his  black  mood. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  want  any  supper,"  mumbled 
Bobby. 

Mr.  Kincaid  took  two  long  steps  across  to 
him,  picked  him  and  the  stool  up  bodily,  and 
set  him  against  the  table. 


THE  MARSHES  207 

"Now  get  at  it,"  said  he. 

Bobby  languidly  tasted  a  piece  of  bread  and 
butter. 

In  five  minutes  he  was  at  his  fifth  slice,  and 
had  had  four  eggs  and  three  pieces  of  bacon. 
In  ten  the  world  had  brightened  marvellously. 
In  fifteen  Bobby  was  chattering  eagerly  between 
mouthfuls,  rehearsing  with  some  excitement 
the  different  events  of  the  day. 

"To-morrow,"  said  he,  "I'm  going  to  shoot 
a  lot." 

"Thought  you  weren't  going  to-morrow," 
suggested  Mr.  Kincaid. 

Bobby  smiled  shamefacedly. 

"That's  all  right,  Bobby,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid 
kindly.  "Supper  makes  a  big  difference  to 
any  of  us,  especially  after  a  long  day." 

Curly  received  with  gratitude  the  few  scraps 
and  three  dog  biscuits.  The  guns  were  cleaned 
and  oiled.  All  the  ducks  were  tied  in  bunches 
by  their  necks  and  hung  from  hooks  on  the 
north  side  of  the  hut.  Bobby  held  the  heads 
together  while  Mr.  Kincaid  slipped  the  loops 
over  them.  Both  counted.  Bobby  made  it 
eighty-four;  while  Mr.  Kincaid's  tally  was  only 
eighty-three. 

"Enough,  anyway,"  said  the  latter. 


208  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

Then  Bobby  suddenly  found  himself  so 
extraordinarily  drowsy  that  he  actually  fell 
asleep  while  taking  off  his  shoes.  Mr.  Kincaid 
put  him  to  bed.  Outside,  the  wind  howled, 
the  water  lapped  against  the  float.  Inside,  the 
shadows  leaped  and  fell.  But  Bobby  did  not 
even  dream  of  ducks. 


XII 

THE   TRESPASSERS 

One  day  as  Bobby  and  Mr.  Kincaid  were  walk 
ing  along  looking  for  squirrels  in  the  high  open 
woods,  Duke,  who  was  always  required  to  trail 
at  heel  for  fear  of  alarming  the  game,  became 
very  uneasy.  He  dropped  back  a  few  steps, 
and  attempted  to  escape  from  control  on  either 
side;  he  tried  to  get  ahead  —  with  always  a 
deprecating  side-glance  at  his  masters;  he 
begged  in  his  best  dog  fashion. 

"He  acts  like  birds/'  said  Mr.  Kincaid. 
"Hie  on,  Duke!" 

Immediately  Duke  sprang  away,  the  impulse 
of  his  suddenly  released  energy  projecting  him 
ten  feet  at  a  bound.  But  at  once  he  slowed 
down.  Step  by  step  he  drew  ahead,  his  beauti 
ful  feathered  tail  sweeping  slowly  from  side  to 
side,  his  delicate  nostrils  expanding  and  con 
tracting,  his  fine  intelligent  eye  roving  here  and 
there.  He  stopped.  His  head  dropped  to  the 
level  of  his  back  and  stretched  straight  out  ahead. 

209 


210  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

His  tail  stiffened.  Gently  he  raised  one  hind 
leg  just  off  the  ground.  His  eye  glazed  with  an 
inner  concentration,  and  the  trace  of  slaver 
moistened  the  edges  of  his  black  and  shining  lips. 

Mr.  Kincaid  cocked  his  gun  and  stepped 
forward. 

"He's  just  beyond  that  dead  log,  Bobby," 
he  said  quietly. 

Bobby  watched  with  all  his  eyes.  One, 
two,  three  steps  Mr.  Kincaid  advanced.  Now 
he  was  abreast  of  Duke.  The  setter  merely 
stiffened  a  trifle  more.  Bobby's  heart  was 
beating  rapidly.  The  whole  sunlit  autumn 
world  of  woodland  seemed  waiting  in  a  breath 
less  suspense.  The  little  boy  found  space  for 
a  fleeting  resentment  against  a  nuthatch  on  a 
tree-trunk  near  at  hand  for  the  calm,  indifferent 
and  noisy  manner  in  which  he  went  about  his 
everyday  business. 

Suddenly  a  mighty  roar  shattered  the  stillness. 
Beyond  Duke  something  swift  and  noisy  and 
brown  and  explosive  seemed  to  fill  the  air.  So 
startling  was  the  irruption  that  Bobby  was 
powerless  to  gather  his  scattered  senses  suffi 
ciently  to  see  clearly  what  was  happening.  Mr. 
Kincaid's  gun  bellowed;  a  cloud  of  white  powder 
smoke  hung  in  the  mottled  sunshine.  And  down 


THE  TRESPASSERS  211 

through  the  trees  a  swift,  brown,  bullet-like  flight 
crumpled  and  fell,  whirling  and  twisting  in  a  long 
slanting  line  until  it  hit  the  earth  with  a  thump ! 
Bobby  heard  Mr.  Kincaid  berating  Duke. 

"Down,  you  villain!  Don't  you  try  to  break 
shot  on  me!" 

And  Duke,  his  hindquarters  trembling  with 
eagerness,  his  head  turned  beseechingly  toward 
the  man,  crouched  awaiting  the  signal. 

Quite  deliberately  Mr.  Kincaid  reloaded. 

"Fetch  dead!"  he  then  commanded. 

Duke  sprang  away  in  long  elastic  leaps. 
After  a  moment  of  casting  back  and  forth,  he 
returned.  His  head  was  held  high,  for  in  his 
mouth  he  carried  the  limp  brown  bird.  Straight 
to  Mr.  Kincaid  he  marched.  The  man  stooped 
and  laid  hands  on  the  game.  At  once  the  dog 
released  it,  not  a  feather  ruffled  by  his  delicate 
mouthing. 

"Good  dog,  Duke,"  Mr.  Kincaid  commended 
him.  "  Old  cock  bird,"  he  told  Bobby. 

Bobby  spread  out  the  broad  brown  fan  of  a 
tail ;  he  inserted  his  finger  under  the  glossy  ruffs ; 
he  stroked  the  smooth,  brown,  mottled  back. 

"This  is  more  fun  than  squirrels,"  said  he 
with  conviction. 

Mr.  Kincaid  glanced  at  him  in  surprise. 


212  THE  ADVENTURES  OP  BOBBY  ORDE 

"But  you  can't  hunt  these  fellows,"  said  he, 
"It  takes  a  shotgun  to  get  *  pats.'  You  wouldn't 
have  much  fun  at  this  game." 

"I'd  rather  watch  you  —  and  Duke,"  replied 
Bobby,  "than  to  shoot  squirrels.  Are  there 
many  of  them?" 

"Not  up  on  the  ridges,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid. 
"This  fellow's  rather  a  straggler.  But  there's 
plenty  in  the  swamps  and  popples.  Want  to 
go  after  them?" 

"Yes,"  said  Bobby. 

After  that  the  two  used  often  to  follow  the 
edges  of  the  hardwood  swamps,  the  creek 
bottoms,  the  hillsides  of  popples,  and  —  later 
in  the  season  —  the  sumac  and  berry- vine  tangles 
of  the  old  burnings,  looking  for  that  king  of 
game-birds,  the  ruffed  grouse. 

Bobby  became  accustomed  to  the  roar  as  the 
birds  leaped  into  the  air,  so  that  he  was  able  to 
follow  with  intelligent  interest  all  the  moves 
in  the  game,  but  never  did  his  heart  fail  to  leap 
in  response.  In  later  years,  when  he  too  owned 
a  shotgun,  this  sudden  shock  of  the  nerves 
seemed  to  be  the  required  stimulant  to  key  him 
instantly  to  his  best  work.  A  sneaker  —  that 
is  to  say,  a  bird  that  flushed  without  the  custom 
ary  whirr  —  he  was  quite  apt  to  miss. 


THE  TRESPASSERS  213 

Little  by  little,  as  he  followed  Mr.  Kincaid, 
he  learned  the  habits  of  his  game:  where  it  was 
to  be  found  according  to  time  of  day  and  season 
of  year.  Strangely  enough  this  he  never  anal 
yzed.  He  did  not  consciously  say  to  himself; 
"It  is  early  in  the  day,  and  cold  for  the  time  of 
year,  therefore  we'll  find  them  in  the  brush 
points  just  off  the  swamps,  because  they  will  be 
working  out  to  the  hillsides  for  the  sun  after 
roosting  in  the  swamps."  His  processes  of 
judgment  were  more  instinctive.  By  dint  of 
repeated  experience  of  finding  birds  in  certain 
cover,  that  kind  of  cover  meant  birds  to  him. 
"A  good  place  for  'pats,' :'  said  he  to  himself, 
and  confidently  expected  to  find  them.  That  is 
the  way  good  hunters  are  made. 

All  day  long  thus  they  would  tramp,  forcing 
their  way  through  the  blackthorn  thickets; 
clambering  over  and  under  the  dead-falls  and 
debris  of  the  slashings;  climbing  the  side  hills 
with  the  straight,  silvery  shafts  of  the  poplars; 
wandering  down  the  narrow  aisles  of  the  old 
logging  roads;  plodding  doggedly  across  the 
unproductive  fields  that  lay  between  patches 
of  cover;  always  lured  on  in  the  hope  of  more 
game  farther  on,  picking  up  a  bird  here,  a  bird 
there,  each  an  adventure  in  itself.  And  occas- 


214  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

ionally,  once  in  a  great  while,  they  ran  against 
a  glorious  piece  of  luck,  when  the  grouse  rose 
in  twos  and  threes,  this  way,  that,  and  the  other, 
until  the  air  seemed  full  of  them.  Mr.  Kincaid, 
very  intent,  shot  and  loaded  as  fast  as  he  was 
able.  Sometimes  things  went  right,  and  the 
bag  was  richer  by  two  or  three  birds.  Again 
they  went  wrong.  The  first  grouse  to  rise  might 
be  the  farthest  away.  Mr.  Kincaid  would 
snap-shoot  at  it,  only  to  be  overwhelmed,  after 
his  gun  was  empty,  by  a  half  dozen  flushing 
under  his  very  feet.  Or  a  miss  at  an  easy  first 
would  spell  humiliation  all  along  the  line.  Then 
Bobby  and  Duke  would  be  much  cast  down. 
"Thing  to  do,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid,  "is  to 
shoot  one  bird  at  a  time.  If  you  get  to  thinking 
of  the  second  before  you've  killed  the  first, 
you  won't  get  either.  It's  a  hard  thing  to  learn. 
I  haven't  got  it  down  pat  yet." 

The  short  autumn  days  went  fast.  Before 
they  knew  it  the  pale  sun  had  touched  the  horizon 
and  the  world  was  turning  cold  and  gray.  Then 
came  the  long  laden  tramp  back  to  old  Buceph 
alus,  or  perhaps  to  town,  if  they  had  started  out 
afoot.  They  were  always  very  tired;  but, 
as  to  Bobby,  at  least,  very  happy. 


THE  TRESPASSERS  215 

Generally  speaking  they  wandered  through 
the  country  at  will.  Shooting  was  not  then  as 
popular  as  it  is  now,  nor  the  farms  as  close 
together.  Sometimes,  however,  they  came 
across  signs  warning  against  trespass  or  hunting. 
Then,  if  the  cover  seemed  especially  desirable, 
Mr.  Kincaid  used  sometimes  to  try  to  obtain 
permission  of  the  owner  of  the  land.  Once  or 
twice,  having  overlooked  the  sign,  they  were 
ordered  off.  The  farmers  were  good-natured, 
even  though  firm. 

But  some  four  miles  to  the  eastward  lay  a 
deep  long  swamp  following  the  windings  between 
hills  where  Mr.  Kincaid  and  Bobby  had  a  very 
disagreeable  experience.  It  was  late  in  the 
afternoon,  so  Bobby  had  become  tired.  Duke 
made  game  on  the  outskirts  of  a  dense  thicket, 
hesitated,  then  led  the  way  cautiously  into  the 
tangle. 

44  It's  pretty  thick,"  Mr.  Kincaid  advised 
Bobby;  "you'd  better  sit  on  the  stump  there 
until  I  come  out." 

Bobby  did  so.  A  moment  or  so  after  Mr. 
Kincaid  had  disappeared,  the  little  boy  became 
aware  of  a  man  approaching  across  the  stump- 
dotted  field.  He  was  a  short,  thickset  man, 
with  a  broad  face  almost  entirely  covered  with  a 


216  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

beard,  a  thick  nose,  and  little,  inflamed  snapping 
eyes.  He  was  clad  in  faded  and  dingy  overalls, 
and  carried  a  pitchfork. 

;<  Who's  that  shooting  in  here?"  he  shouted  at 
Bobby  as  soon  as  he  was  within  hearing. 
;<What  do  you  mean  by  hunting  here?  You 
must  have  passed  right  by  the  sign." 

"Don't  you  want  shooting  here?  No;  we 
didn't  see  the  sign,"  replied  Bobby. 

By  this  time  the  man  had  approached,  and 
Bobby  could  see  his  bloodshot  little  eyes  flicker 
ing  with  anger. 

'You  lying  little  snipe,"  he  roared.  "You 
must  have  seen  the  sign.  You  could'nt  help  it. 
I've  a  mind  to  tan  your  hide  good." 

"What's  this?"  asked  Mr.  Kincaid's  quiet 
voice. 

The  man  whirled  about. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?"  he  snarled.  "Well, 
what  do  you  mean  by  trespassing  on  my  farm?" 

"I  didn't  know  it  was  your  farm,  in  the  first 
place;  and  I  didn't  know  shooting  was  prohibited 
in  the  second  place." 

"That's  too  thin.  You  came  right  by  that 
sign  at  the  corner.  Now  just  make  tracks  off 
this  farm  about  as  fast  as  you  can  go." 

"Certainly,"     agreed     Mr.     Kincaid,     quite 


THE  TRESPASSERS  217 

unruffled.  "I  never  shoot  on  a  man's  land 
when  he  doesn't  want  me  to." 

He  turned,  and  at  once  the  man  became 
abusive,  just  as  a  dog  gains  courage  as  his 
enemy  passes.  Bobby  listened,  bis  eyes  wide 
with  dismay  and  shock.  Never  had  he  heard 
quite  that  sort  of  language.  Finally  Mr.  Kin- 
caid  happened  to  glance  down  at  his  small 
companion.  He  slipped  the  shells  from  his 
gun  and  leaned  it  against  a  stump. 

"About  face!"  he  said  sharply  to  the  man. 
"You  can't  talk  that  way  before  this  baby. 
We  are  going  off  your  place  as  straight  and  as 
fast  as  we  can.  You  shoulder  your  pitchfork 
and  go  back  to  your  house." 

The  man  started  again  on  a  string  of  objur 
gation. 

"I  mean  what  I  say,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid 
with  deadly  emphasis.  "About  face.  If  you 
open  your  mouth  again  I  shall  certainly  kill 
you." 

The  old  man's  bent  shoulders  had  straightened, 
his  mild  blue  eye  flashed  fire.  So  he  must  have 
looked  to  his  soldiers  before  the  storming  of 
Molino  del  Rey.  His  hands  were  quite  empty 
of  a  weapon,  and  his  age  was  hardly  a  match 
for  the  other's  brute  strength.  Nevertheless^ 


218  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

the  farmer  at  once  turned  back,  after  a  parting, 
but  milder,  admonition. 

Mr.  Kincaid  picked  up  his  gun,  tucked  it 
under  his  arm  and  trudged  forward.  Bobby 
was  trembling  violently  with  excitement  and 
anger. 

"  Why  —  why  -  "  he  gasped,  as  yet  unable 
to  cast  his  thoughts  into  speech. 

Mr.  Kincaid  glanced  down.  A  faint  and 
amused  smile  flickered  under  his  moustache. 

'"  You  aren't  going  to  do  that  sort  of  a  crank 
the  honour  of  keeping  stirred  up,  are  you?" 
"  That's  Pritchard  — the  worst  crank  in  Mich 
igan.  He's  quarrelled  with  every  one.  I  never 
did  know  where  his  farm  was,  or  I  should  have 
taken  pains  to  keep  off." 

They  climbed  into  the  cart  and  drove  away 
toward  town. 

"I  believe  I'll  make  a  hunter  of  you,  Bobby," 
pursued  Mr.  Kincaid  after  they  were  going. 
"It's  a  good  thing  to  be.  Of  course  there's  the 
fun  of  it  —  the  'pats,'  the  quail,  the  jacksnipe, 
the  'cock.  But  then  there's  the  other  part,  too." 

They  had  come  out  on  the  sandhills  over 
the  town.  Mr.  Kincaid  drew  up  Bucephalus 
and  contemplated  it  as  it  lay  below  them,  its 
roofs  half  hidden  in  the  mauve  and  lilac  of 


I    MEAN    WHAT    I    SAY,"    SAID   MB.  K1NCA1D    WI1H    DEADLY    EMPHASIS 


THE  TRESPASSERS  219 

bared  branches,  its  columns  of  smoke  rising 
straight  up  in  the  frosty  air. 

"Of  course,  I  don't  know,  Bobby,  whether 
you'll  ever  be  a  hunter  or  not.  It  all  depends 
on  where  you  live  and  how  —  the  chance  to 
get  out,  I  mean.  But,  sonny,  you  can  always 
be  a  sportsman,  whatever  you  do.  A  sports 
man  does  things  because  he  likes  them,  Bobby, 
for  no  other  reason  —  not  for  money,  nor  to 
become  famous,  nor  even  to  win  —  although  all 
these  things  may  come  to  him  and  it  is  quite 
right  that  he  take  them  and  enjoy  them.  Only 
he  does  not  do  the  things  for  them,  but  for  the 
pleasure  of  doing.  And  a  right  man  does  not 
get  pleasure  in  doing  a  thing  if  in  any  way  he 
takes  an  unfair  advantage.  That's  being  a 
sportsman.  And,  after  all,  that's  all  I  can 
teach  you  if  wre  hunt  together  ten  years.  Do 
you  think  you  can  remember  that  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Bobby  soberly. 

"There's  only  one  other  thing,"  went  on  Mr. 
Kincaid,  "that  is  really  important,  and  it  isn't 
necessary  if  you  remember  the  other  things 
I've  told  you.  It's  pretty  easy  sometimes  to  do 
a  thing  because  you  see  everybody  else  doing 
it.  Always  remember  that  a  true  sportsman 
in  every  way  is  about  the  scarcest  thing  they 


220  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

make  —  and  the  finest.  So  naturally  the  com 
mon  run  of  people  don't  live  up  to  it.  If  you  — 
not  the  thinking  you,  nor  even  the  conscience  you, 
but  the  way-down-deep-in-your-heart  you  that 
you  can't  fool  nor  trick  nor  lie  to  —  if  that  you 
is  satisfied,  it's  all  right."  He  turned  and 
grinned  humorously  at  his  small  companion. 
"I've  nothing  but  a  little  income  and  an  old 
horse  and  two  dogs  and  a  few  friends,  Bobby; 
I've  lived  thirty  years  in  that  little  place  there; 
and  a  great  many  excellent  people  call  me  a 
good-for-nothing  old  loafer,  but  I've  learned 
the  things  I'm  telling  you  now,  and  I'm  just 
conceited  and  stuck-up  enough  to  think  I've 
made  a  howling  success  of  it." 

"/  don't  think  that,"  said  Bobby,  laying  his 
cheek  against  the  man's  threadbare  sleeve. 

"Of  course  you  don't,  Bobby,"  said  Mr. 
Kincaid  cheerfully,  "and  I'll  tell  you  why. 
It's  because  you  and  I  speak  the  same  language, 
although  you're  a  little  boy  and  I'm  a  big  man." 


XIII 

THE    PLAYMATES 

Early  that  autumn  it  became  expedient  that 
Mrs.  Orde  and  Bobby  should  visit  Grand 
father  and  Grandmother  Orde  at  Redding, 
while  Mr.  Orde  pushed  through  certain  heavy 
cutting  in  the  woods.  Bobby  took  with  him 
his  two  fonts  of  "real"  type  —  one  a  parting 
present  from  Mr.  Daggett  —  and  his  Flobert 
Rifle. 

The  old  Orde  homestead  covered  about  three 
acres  of  ground.  The  city  had  grown  up  around 
it.  The  house  was  a  three-storied  stone  struc 
ture,  built  fifty  years  before,  steep  of  roof, 
gabled,  low-ceilinged,  old-fashioned  and  delight 
ful.  Bobby  loved  it  and  its  explorations,  from 
the  cellar  with  its  bins  of  vegetables  and  fruit 
and  its  barrels  of  molasses,  cider  and  vinegar, 
to  its  attic  with  its  black,  mysterious,  "behind 
the  tank."  And  the  three  acres  were  a  joy. 
Outside  the  picket  fence  were  the  shade  trees, 
their  trunks  nearly  two  feet  in  diameter.  Then 

221 


222  THE  ADVENTURES  OP  BOBBY  ORDE 

stretched  the  wide  deep  lawn,  now  turning  dull 
with  the  approach  of  winter  and  strewn  with 
dead  leaves.  It  supported  the  fir  which  Bobby 
always  called  the  "Christmas  Tree,"  and  under 
whose  wide  low  branches  he  could  crawl  as 
into  a  dusty,  cobwebby  house;  and  the  little 
birch  tree  with  its  silver  bark;  and  the  big  round 
lilac  bush,  now  bare,  but  in  summer  the  fragrant 
haunt  of  birds  and  butterflies  innumerable; 
and  the  round  flower  bed;  and  the  horse-chestnut 
tree  whose  inedible  brown  -and-yellow  nuts 
were  just  right  to  throw  or  to  string  into  neck 
laces;  and  close  by  the  front  gate  the  Big  Tree. 
Bobby  firmly  believed  this  the  largest  tree  in 
the  world.  It  was  a  silver  maple  so  great  about 
the  trunk  that  Bobby  could  trot  about  it  as 
around  a  race-track.  At  twelve  feet  it  branched 
in  two,  each  division  bigger  than  any  shade 
tree  in  town.  The  branches  were  held  together 
by  a  logging  chain.  Above  them  were  more 
divisions  and  more  and  yet  more,  ever  rising 
higher  and  finer,  until  at  last,  far  over  the  tops 
of  the  maples,  of  the  elms,  even  of  the  hickory 
at  the  side  of  the  house,  above  the  highest  point 
of  the  highest  gable  of  the  house  itself,  it  feath 
ered  out  in  a  delicate,  wide  lacework  that  seemed 
fairly  to  brush  the  sky.  Bobby's  realization 


THE  PLAYMATES  223 

of  height  ceased  short  of  the  reality.  Beyond 
that  he  was  breathless,  as  one  is  breathless  at 
too  great  speed.  The  big  tree  was  full  of  orioles' 
and  vireos'  nests,  old  and  recent,  representing 
the  building  of  many  summers.  Out  behind 
was  the  orchard,  a  dozen  sturdy  old  apple  trees, 
now  passing  the  meridian  of  their  powers. 

Here  Bobby  laboured  hard  with  hammers 
and  a  few  old  boards  until  he  had  constructed 
a  shield  on  which  to  tack  his  target.  He  leaned 
the  affair  against  the  thickest  and  tallest  wood 
pile,  placed  a  saw-horse  for  a  rest  at  fifteen 
yards  from  his  mark  and  brought  out  his  Flo- 
bert  Rifle. 

At  the  third  snap  of  the  little  weapon,  he 
looked  up  to  discover  a  row  of  interested  heads 
lined  up  along  the  top  of  the  high  board  fence 
that  constituted  the  Ordes'  eastern  boundary. 
He  pretended  not  to  see  but  shot  again,  very 
deliberately. 

"Say,"  shouted  a  voice,  "I'm  coming  over!" 

Bobby  looked  up  once  more.  One  of  the 
heads  had  given  place  to  a  very  sturdy  back  and 
legs  suspended  on  the  Orde  side  of  the  fence. 
The  legs  wriggled  frantically,  the  toes  scratched 
at  the  boards. 

"Aw,   drop!"     said   another  voice,   and  the 


224  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

second  head  produced  a  hand  and  arm  which 
proceeded  calmly  to  rap  the  knuckles  of  the 
one  who  dangled.  The  latter  let  go.  Finding 
himself  uninjured  by  the  three-foot  fall,  he 
looked  up  wrathfully  at  his  late  assailant.  That 
youth  was  in  the  act  of  swinging  his  own  legs 
over.  The  first-comer,  with  a  gurgle  of  joy, 
seized  the  other  by  both  feet  and  tugged  with 
all  his  strength.  His  victim  kicked  frantically, 
tried  to  hang  on,  had  to  let  go  and  came  down 
all  in  a  heap  on  top  of  his  tormentor.  Immedi 
ately  they  clinched  and  began  to  roll  over  and 
over.  Bobby  stared,  vastly  astonished. 

Before  ho  could  collect  his  thoughts  a  third 
figure  was  dangling  down  the  boards.  This  one 
was  feminine.  It  displayed  a  good  deal  of  long 
black  leg,  of  short  dull  plaid  skirt,  a  reefer  jacket, 
two  pigtails  and  a  knit  blue  tam-o'-shanter.  Fur 
ther  observation  was  impossible,  for  it  dropped 
without  hesitation  and  the  moment  it  struck 
ground  pounced  on  the  two  combatants.  Bobby 
saw  those  gentlemen  seized,  shaken  and  slapped 
with  hurricane  vigour.  The  next  he  knew, 
three  flushed  visitors  were  descending  on  him 
with  ingratiating  grins. 

The  first,  he  of  the  pounded  knuckles,  was 
a  short,  sturdy,  very  fair-haired  youth  with  a 


THE  PLAYMATES  225 

wide  red-lipped  mouth,  wide  and  winning  blue 
eyes  and  a  bit  of  a  swagger  in  his  walk.  He 
was  about  Bobby's  age.  The  second,  he  of 
the  pulled  feet,  was  brown-haired,  slightly 
stooped,  rather  nervous-faced,  but  with  the 
drollest  twinkle  to  his  brown  eyes  and  the  quaint 
est  quirk  to  his  sensitive  lips.  He  was  about 
twelve  years  old.  The  third,  the  girl,  was 
tawny-haired,  gray-eyed.  Her  face  was  almost 
the  exact  shape  of  the  hearts  on  valentines; 
her  nose  turned  up  just  enough  to  be  impudent; 
her  freckles,  for  she  was  indubitably  freckled, 
were  just  wide  enough  apart  to  emphasize  the 
inquiring,  unabashed  self-reliance  of  her  eyes. 
Her  figure  was  long  and  lank  but  moved  with 
a  freedom  and  a  confidence  that  indicated  her 
full  control  of  it.  She  was  probably  just  short 
of  her  'teens. 

"Gorry!"  said  the  first  boy,  "is  that  gun 
yours?" 

"Let's  see  it,"  said  the  second. 

"It's  a  beauty,  isn't  it?  Look  at  the  gold 
mounting,"  said  the  girl. 

"Look  out  how  you  handle  it!"  warned 
Bobby. 

"Why,  is  it  loaded?"    asked  Number  One. 

"It   doesn't   matter   whether   it's   loaded   or 


226  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

not!"   insisted  Bobby  stoutly.     "It  ought  never 
to  be  pointed  toward  anybody." 

"Oh,  shucks!"  said  Number  One,  reaching 
for  the  rifle. 

But  Bobby  interposed. 

'  You  mustn't  touch  it  unless  you  handle  it 
right,"  said  he. 

"Shucks,"  repeated  the  light-haired  boy,  still 
reaching. 

Bobby,  his  heart  beating  a  little  more  rapidly 
than  usual,  thrust  himself  in  front  of  the  other. 

"  Ho ! "  cried  the  other,  the  joy  of  battle  light 
ing  up  his  dancing  blue  eyes.  "Want  to  fight? 
I  can  lick  you  with  one  hand  tied  behind  me." 

'This  is  my  yard,"  said  Bobby,  "and  that 
is  my  gun!  And  besides  I  didn't  ask  you  to 
come  in  here,  anyway." 

;<Well,  I  can  lick  you,  anyway,"  replied  the 
other  with  unanswerable  logic. 

The  girl  had  been  watching  them  narrowly, 
her  hands  on  her  hips,  her  head  on  one  side. 
Now  she  interfered. 

"Johnnie,  come  off!"   said  she  sharply.    "No 

fighting!     You're  bigger  than  he  is,  and  it  is 

his  yard  and  his  gun,   and,  anyway,   he  isn't 

afraid  of  you." 

Johnnie     looked     at     her    doubtfully,    then 


THE  PLAYMATES 

turned  to  Bobby  as  to  a  companion  under 
tyranny. 

"That's  just  like  her,"  he  complained.  "She 
always  spoils  things!  You  ain't  smaller  than 
I  am,  anyhow.  Never  mind,  we'll  try  it  some 
time  when  she  ain't  around.  Let's  see  your 
old  gun.  I  won't  point  it  at  anybody.  Show 
me  how  she  works." 

Bobby,  a  little  stiffly  at  first,  for  he  could 
not  understand  fighting  without  animosity, 
showed  them  how  it  worked. 

"Let  me  try  her,"  urged  Johnnie. 

But  Bobby  would  not  until  he  had  asked  his 
mother,  for  permission  to  shoot  had  been 
obtained  only  at  expense  of  a  very  solemn 
promise. 

"Fraidy!"  jeered  Johnnie,  "tied  to  his 
mammy's  apron-strings!" 

Bobby  flushed  deeply,  but  stood  his  ground. 

"It's  my  gun,"  he  pointed  out  again.  " If  you 
don't  like  my  yard,  you  needn't  come  into  it." 

"Oh,  all  right,  we  don't  want  to  stay  in  your 
old  yard,"  replied  Johnnie.  "Come  on,  kids." 

"Johnnie,  come  back  here,"  commanded  the 
girl  sharply.  "You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
yourself!  He's  perfectly  right!  Suppose  one 
of  us  should  get  shot!" 


228  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"I'll  get  papa  to  shoot  with  us,  if  he  will," 
promised  Bobby. 

"Johnny,  you  come  back  here!"  ordered 
the  girl  in  more  peremptory  tones.  "You  come 
back  or  —  or  —  /'//  sit  on  your  head  again!" 

Johnny  came  back,  entirely  good-natured, 
his  attractive  blue  eyes  glancing  here  and  there 
in  restless  activity. 

" Oh,  all  right,"  said  he.  "Let's  play  robbers 
and  policemen." 

'  We've  left  Carrie  over  the  fence,"  insisted 
the  girl. 

"Bother    Carrie!     Why    don't    she    climb?" 

"You  come  over  with  us,"  the  girl  suggested 
to  Bobby.  "You're  Bobby  Orde,  of  course, 
we  know.  I'm  May  Fowler.  I  live  in  the  big 
square  house  over  that  way.  The  boy  with 
the  yellow  hair  is  Johnny  English.  The  other 
one  is  Morton  Drake.  Come  on." 

"  Where  is  it  ?  "   asked  Bobby. 

"Just  over  the  fence.  That's  where  the 
Englishes  live.  Haven't  you  been  there  yet?" 

"No,"  said  Bobby. 

He  leaned  his  rifle  in  the  barn  and  followed 
the  disappearing  trio.  His  doubt  as  to  how 
the  smooth  board  fence  was  to  be  surmounted 
was  soon  resolved.  The  new-comers  evidently 


THE  PLAYMATES 

knew  all  the  ins  and  outs.  In  the  very  end  of 
the  long  woodshed  stood  a  chicken-feed  bin. 
By  scrambling  to  the  top  of  this,  it  was  just 
possible  to  squeeze  between  the  edge  of  the 
roof  and  the  top  of  the  fence.  Once  there, 
one  had  the  choice  of  descending  to  the  other 
side  or  climbing  to  the  shed  roof. 

The  expedition  at  present  led  to  the  other 
side.  Here  was  no  necessity  of  dangling,  for 
the  two-by-fours  running  between  the  posts 
offered  a  graduated  descent.  Bobby  found  him 
self  in  the  back  yard  of  a  tall  house  that  occupied 
nearly  the  entire  width  of  the  lot.  It  was  a 
very  impressive  cream-brick  house.  A  cement 
walk  led  around  it  from  the  front.  There  were 
no  stables,  no  clothes-lines,  no  pumps,  nothing 
to  indicate  the  kitchen  end  of  a  residence.  The 
swift  curve  of  a  grassed  terrace  dropped  from 
the  house-level  to  that  on  which  Bobby  stood. 
Four  large  apple  trees,  mathematically  spaced, 
would  furnish  shade  in  summer.  That  the 
shade  was  utilized  was  proved  by  the  presence 
of  a  number  of  settees,  iron  chairs  and  a  rustic 
table  or  so. 

"  There's  Carrie ! "  cried  May  Fowler.  "  Why 
didn't  you  come  on  over?  This  is  Bobby  Orde 
who  lives  over  there.  This  is  Caroline  English." 


230  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

:<  We're  going  to  play  robber  and  policeman," 
announced  Johnny  English,  cheerfully. 

"All  right,"  said  Carrie. 

She  sat  down  behind  one  of  those  rustic 
tables. 

"She's  police  sergeant,"  confided  Morton 
Drake  to  Bobby.  "  She's  always  police  sergeant 
because  she  doesn't  like  to  get  her  clothes  dirty." 

"Here  come  the  rest!  Goody!"  cried 
the  alert  Johnny  as  four  more  children  came 
racing  around  the  corner  of  the  house. 

Robber  and  policemen  was  a  game  absurd 
in  its  simplicity.  The  policemen  pursued  the 
robbers  who  fled  within  the  specified  limits  of 
the  Englishes'  yard.  When  an  officer  caught 
a  malefactor,  he  attempted  to  bring  his  prize 
before  the  police  sergeant.  The  robber  was 
privileged  to  resist.  Assistance  from  the  other 
policemen  and  rescues  by  the  other  robbers 
were  permitted.  That  was  all  there  was  to  it. 
The  beautiful  result  was  a  series  of  free  fights. 

Bobby,  as  a  new-comer,  was  made  a  robber. 
So  were  Grace  Jones,  Morton  and  Walter. 
The  nature  of  the  game  demanded  that  the 
oldest  should  be  policeman,  otherwise  arrests 
might  be  disgracefully  unavailing. 

At  a  signal  from  Carrie  the  robbers  scurried 


THE  PLAYMATES  231 

away.  At  another  the  sleuths  set  out  on  the 
trail.  Each  policeman  elected  a  robber  as  his 
especial  prey.  Bobby  ran  rapidly  around  the 
front  of  the  house,  dodged  past  the  front  steps 
and  paused.  Behind  him  he  heard  stealthy 
footsteps  approaching  the  corner  of  the  house. 
Instantly  he  ducked  forward  around  the  other 
corner  and  ran  plump  into  the  arms  of  Johnny 
English. 

That  youngster   immediately   grappled   him. 

Johnny  was  no  bigger  than  Bobby,  but  he 
was  practised  at  scuffles  and  his  body  was 
harder  and  firmer  knit.  Bobby  tugged  man 
fully,  but  almost  before  he  knew  it  he  was  upset 
and  hit  the  ground  with  a  disconcerting  whack. 
Of  course,  he  continued  to  struggle,  and  the 
two,  fiercely  locked,  whirled  over  and  over 
through  the  leaves,  but  in  a  humiliatingly  brief 
period  Johnny  had  twisted  him  on  his  back 
and  was  sitting  on  his  chest. 

66 There,  I  told  you  I  could  lick  you!"  he 
cried  triumphantly. 

"Let  me  up!  Let  me  up,  I  tell  you!"  roared 
Bobby,  kicking  his  legs  and  threshing  his  arms 
in  a  vain  effort  to  budge  the  weight  across  his 
body. 

Johnny  looked  at  him  curiously. 


232  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Why!  You  ain't  mad,  are  you!"  He 
shrieked  with  the  joy  of  the  discovery.  "Oh, 
kids!  Corae  here  and  see  him!  He's  getting 
mad!" 

Bobby's  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  rage.  And 
then  he  saw  quite  plainly  the  top  of  a  sand-hill 
and  the  village  lying  below  and  the  blue  of  the 
River  far  distant.  And  he  heard  Mr.  Kincaid's 
voice. 

"But,  sonny,  you  can  always  be  a  sportsman, 
whatever  you  do,"  the  voice  said,  "and  a  sports 
man  does  things  because  he  likes  them,  Bobby, 
for  no  other  reason  —  not  for  money,  nor  to 
become  famous,  nor  even  to  win " 

He  choked  back  his  rage  and  forced  a  grin 
to  his  lips  —  very  much  the  same  sort  that  he 
had  once  accomplished  when  he  "jumped  up 
and  laughed"  at  his  mother's  spanking,  simply 
because  he  had  been  told  to  do  that  whenever 
he  was  hurt. 

"I'm  not  mad,"  he  disclaimed  and  heaved 
so  mighty  a  heave  that  Johnny,  being  unpre 
pared  by  reason  of  shouting  to  the  others,  was 
tumbled  off  one  side.  Instantly  Bobby  jumped 
to  his  feet  and  scudded  away. 

He  was  captured  eventually  --so  were  the 
others  —  but  only  after  fierce  struggles.  Even 


THE  PLAYMATES  233 

did  a  policeman  catch  and  hold  a  robber,  to 
drag  the  latter  to  jail  was  no  easy  problem. 
For  if  he  summoned  the  help  of  a  brother  officer 
that  left  at  large  an  unattached  robber  who 
would  create  diversions  and  attempt  rescues. 
At  times  all  eight  were  piled  in  a  breathless, 
tugging,  rolling  mass,  while  Carrie,  behind  her 
rustic  table,  looked  on  serenely  lest  some  of 
the  simple  rules  of  the  game  be  violated.  In 
fact  Carrie  was  just  as  severe  in  anticipation  of 
possible  infractions,  as  over  the  infractions  them 
selves,  which,  perhaps,  goes  far  to  explain  Carrie. 

Bobby  returned  home  at  lunch  time  to  be 
received  with  horror  by  Mrs.  Orde. 

"You're  a  sight!"  she  cried.  "Where  have 
you  been,  and  what  have  you  been  doing?  I 
never  saw  anything  like  you!  And  look  at 
those  holes  in  your  stockings." 

"I've  been  playing  robber  'n  policeman  with 
Johnny  English  and  Carter  Irvine  and  all  the 
kids,"  explained  Bobby  blissfully. 

After  lunch  Mr.  Orde  kissed  his  son  good-bye. 

"Going  up  in  the  woods  for  a  week,  sonny," 
said  he. 

"Papa,"  asked  Bobby  holding  tight  to  the 
man's  hand,  "can  I  have  the  kids  shoot  with 
my  rifle?" 


234  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Not  any!"  cried  Mr.  Orde  emphatically. 
"Not  until  I  get  back.  Then  maybe  we'll 
have  a  shooting-match  and  invite  all  hands." 

He  was  slipping  on  his  overcoat  as  he  spoke. 

"Which  of  the  boys  do  you  like  best?"  he 
asked  casually. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Bobby  after  an 
instant's  thought.  "Carter  Irvine's  got  an 
air-gun:  I  like  him.  And  Johny  English  is 
all  right,  too.  I  wish  I  were  as  strong  as  Johnny 
English,"  he  ended  with  a  sigh. 

Mr.  Orde  paused  in  reaching  for  his  valise. 

"  Can  he  take  you  down  ?  "  he  asked  shrewdly. 

"Yes,  sir!"   replied  Bobby  with  a  vivid  flush. 

"All  right,  you  be  a  good  boy,  and  when  I 
get  back  I'll  show  you  a  few  tricks  to  fool  Mr. 
Johnny,"  Mr.  Orde  chuckled.  "There's  a 
lot  in  knowing  how." 


XIV 

THE    SHOOTING    CLUB 

When  Bobby  proposed  again  that  his  father 
oversee  general  shoots  in  the  back  yard,  the 
latter  demurred. 

"Haven't  any  time,"  said  he.  "And  you 
youngsters  certainly  can't  be  turned  loose  with 
two  guns  alone.  I'll  tell  you:  you  organize 
your  club,  and  have  a  regular  time  to  shoot 
every  week.  I'll  appoint  Martin  Chief  Inspec 
tor;  but  it  must  be  distinctly  understood  that 
there  is  to  be  no  shooting  unless  he's  here." 

Martin  was  the  "hired  man"  about  Grandpa 
Orde's  place. 

The  children  fell  on  the  idea  with  alacrity, 
and  at  once  adjourned  to  Bobby's  room.  Carter 
Irvine  suggested  formal  organization. 

"Somebody's  got  to  make  targets;  and 
somebody's  got  to  buy  cartridges  and  collect 
the  money  for  them;  and  somebody's  got  to 
buy  prizes  —  we  got  to  have  prizes  —  and 
somebody's  got  to  keep  the  scores." 

£35 


236  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

After  much  talk  they  elected  officers  to  per 
form  these  duties;  and  formulated  curious  but 
practical  by-laws.  Bobby  was  elected  secre 
tary  and  treasurer;  and  he  has  to-day  a  copy 
of  them  written  in  his  own  boyish  unformed 
hand.  Among  other  things  they  provided  that 
"any  one  pointing  a  gun,  accidentally  or  other 
wise,  at  anybody  else  or  Duke,  is  fined  one  cent." 
The  entire  club  went  into  a  committee  of 
the  whole,  marched  down  town  in  a  body  and 
pestered  a  number  of  store- keepers.  Finally 
it  purchased  a  silver  bangle  a  little  larger  than 
a  ten- cent  piece,  had  it  hung  from  a  bar  pin,  and 
inscribed  "First  Prize."  The  second  prize, 
following  Mrs.  Orde's  practical  suggestion,  was 
a  bright  ribbon.  Winners  were  privileged  to 
wear  these  until  defeated.  The  shoots  were 
conducted  with  great  ceremony.  Each  took 
a  single  chance  in  turn  until  five  rounds  apiece 
had  been  expended.  In  a  loud  voice  the  scorer 
announced  the  results,  and  the  name  of  the 
next  on  the  list.  The  shooting  was  done  from 
a  dead  rest  over  the  saw-horse,  and  at  about 
fifteen  yards.  Martin  sat  by  on  the  bridge- 
approach  to  the  barn,  smoking  a  very  short 
and  very  black  clay  pipe  upside  down.  He 
rarely  said  anything;  but  his  twinkling  eyes 


THE  SHOOTING   CLUB  237 

never  for  a  moment  left  the  excited  group. 
Martin  was  reliable.  Occasionally  he  was  called 
upon  to  referee  some  particularly  close  decision 
—  as  to  whether  a  certain  bullet-hole  could  be 
said  to  have  cut  the  edge  of  the  black  or  not  — 
and  his  decisions  were  never  questioned. 

The  shoots  were  taken  very  seriously.  He 
who  won  the  first  or  second  prize  wore  it  proudly. 
Scores,  individual  shots,  good  or  bad  luck, 
distracting  influences  were  all  discussed  with 
the  greatest  interest.  Grandpa  Orde,  happening 
home  early  one  day,  watched  the  performance 
with  great  enjoyment,  his  hands  behind  him 
underneath  the  flapping  linen  duster,  his  eyes 
twinkling,  his  jaws  working  slowly.  At  the 
time  he  made  no  comments;  but  next  shoot 
day  he  was  punctually  on  hand,  carrying  a 
small  paper  parcel. 

"Here's  another  prize,"  said  he. 

They  opened  it  eagerly.  It  contained  a 
large  round  leather  disk  to  which  a  safety  pin 
had  been  sewn. 

"That's  for  the  one  who  makes  the  worst 
score,"  explained  Grandpa  Orde  chuckling. 

Thenceforth  the  poor  shots  had  an  interest. 
If  they  could  not  hope  to  compete  with  Bobby 
and  Carter  Irvine,  at  least  they  could  try  not 


238  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

to  stand  at  the  bottom  of  the  list.  A  new 
by-law  was  adopted,  making  compulsory  the 
conspicuous  wearing  of  the  leather  medal. 

As  has  been  hinted,  the  supremacy  generally 
lay  between  Bobby  and  Carter.  Johnny  occa 
sionally  carried  off  all  honours  by  a  most  brilliant 
score;  but  the  week  following  he  was  likely  to 
escape  the  leather  medal  only  by  the  narrowest 
margin.  The  latter  decoration  was  shared  by 
his  sister  and  Grace  Jones.  Caroline  English 
disliked  firearms;  and  took  part  in  the  contest 
only  because  she  did  not  care  to  be  left  out. 
Both  she  and  Graoe  held  the  weapon  directly 
in  front  of  them,  the  two  hands  clasped  tight 
at  the  same  point  just  behind  the  trigger-guard. 
May  Fowler,  Walter  and  Morton  "furnished 
packing,"  as  Morton  said,  between  the  leaders 
and  the  losers. 

In  this  manner  the  children  came  to  a  thor 
ough  respect  for  the  muzzle  of  a  gun;  and  a 
deep  pride  in  handling  a  weapon  in  a  safe  and 
sportsmanlike  manner.  By  the  time  the  snow 
and  cold  weather  put  a  stop  to  the  shooting, 
each  child  would  have  been  mortified  and 
ashamed  beyond  words  to  have  been  caught 
doing  anything  "like  a  greenhorn." 


XV 


THE    UPPER   ROOMS 


On  Mr.  Orde's  return  from  the  woods,  he  was 
promptly  called  upon  to  redeem  his  promise. 
He  therefore,  showed  Bobby  a  few  of  the  simpler 
wrestler's  tricks  which  Bobby  adopted  and 
brooded  over  in  his  manner.  The  first  game 
of  robber  and  policeman  thereafter,  he  tried 
one  on  Johnny,  but  bungled  it  and  got  sat  on 
harder  than  ever.  Bobby's  trouble  in  the  prac 
tice  of  such  matters  arose  from  the  fact  that  he 
was  too  analytical.  Before  an  idea  could 
become  part  of  his  make-up,  he  had  to  revolve 
it  over  in  his  mind,  examining  it  from  all  sides, 
understanding  the  relations  of  its  component 
parts,  making  the  mechanism  revolve  slowly, 
as  it  were,  in  order  to  comprehend  all  its  correl- 
lations.  This  analytical  thought  naturally  made 
him,  to  a  certain  degree,  self-conscious  in  his 
movements.  It  destroyed  the  instinctive,  super- 
conscious  accuracy  valuable  in  all  games  of 
skill,  but  absolutely  necessary  to  such  things 


240  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

as  skating,  boxing,  wrestling,  wing-shooting, 
tennis  and  the  like.  Seff-consciousness  in  such 
cases  means  awkwardness.  Bobby,  in  learning 
a  new  thing,  was  awkward.  But  he  possessed 
a  wonderful  persistence.  In  time  he  would 
think  all  around  a  thing.  In  more  time  he 
would  have  practised  it  sufficiently  to  have 
lost  sight  of  the  carefully  considered  "reason 
why"  for  each  move.  Thus  the  final,  though 
delayed,  result  was  apt  to  be  more  consistent 
performance  than  Johnny's  brilliantly  instinc 
tive  achievements. 

For  example,  Bobby  tried  again  and  again 
to  attain  the  quick  twisting  heave  necessary  to 
the  common  "grape-vine."  At  no  time  did 
he  achieve  more  than  partial  success.  But  in 
his  numerous  attempts  he,  without  knowing 
it,  taught  Johnny.  That  quick-witted  youth 
caught  the  possibilities  and  at  his  first  attempt 
sprawled  Bobby.  In  fact,  by  the  time  Bobby 
had  even  a  fair  command  of  the  three  or  four 
falls  shown  him  by  his  father,  Johnny  was 
skilful  in  them  all  and  could  catch  Bobby  with 
them  twice  as  often  as  Bobby  could  catch  him. 
This  kept  Bobby  humble-minded,  and,  as  it 
in  no  way  discouraged  him  from  keeping  at 
it,  was  a  good  thing  for  him.  Here  is  perhaps 


THE  UPPER  ROOMS  241 

as  good  a  place  as  any  to  remark  parenthetically 
that  while  the  friends  scuffled  and  wrestled 
constantly,  Johnny  never  got  to  be  much  better 
than  he  became  in  the  first  three  weeks,  while 
Bobby,  in  later  years,  was  the  middle-weight 
champion  of  his  class  at  college. 

The  autumn  passed,  and  colder  weather  set 
in.  Out  of  doors  was  available  only  for  the 
activities  of  life.  As  long  as  energy  was  burnt 
with  some  lavishness,  all  was  well,  but  when 
the  first  enthusiasm  had  ebbed,  Jack  Frost 
began  to  nip  shrewdly.  Then  the  children 
went  within  doors.  They  divided  their  favours 
almost  equally  between  the  third  stories  of  the 
Orde  and  English  homes. 

The  Englishes'  third  story  had  never  been 
finished.  Bare  walls,  bare  floors,  fresh  var 
nished  wood-work  and  the  steam  radiators 
constituted  the  whole  equipment. 

This  very  openness  of  space,  however,  proved 
an  irresistible  attraction  to  the  children.  Gradu 
ally  articles  of  their  amusement  became  installed, 
until  the  latter  end  of  that  third  story  was  an 
official  "play  room."  Shelves — made  by 
Johnny  —  held  books  and  miscellaneous  junk; 
toys  of  various  sorts  were  scattered  about; 
against  the  wall  was  screwed  a  noisy  chest- 


242  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

weight,  which  nobody  disturbed;  near  the 
window  stood  a  scroll-saw  worked  by  foot-power. 
Nobody  bothered  with  that  either,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  all  the  saw  blades  were  broken 
and  the  novelty  had  worn  off.  Bobby  would 
have  liked  to  experiment  with  it,  but  of  course 
he  did  not  feel  like  suggesting  repairs. 

But  the  Upper  Rooms  were  full  of  echoes 
and  noises  when  one  clumped  on  the  bare  floor, 
and  space  with  nothing  to  knock  over  when 
one  scuffled,  and  the  air  was  always  cold  enough 
so  one  could  see  his  breath.  Therefore  the 
Upper  Rooms  were  popular,  but  in  a  different 
manner  and  for  different  purposes  than  Bobby's 
warmed  and  furnished  chamber. 

Here  the  rougher,  noisier  romping  took  place, 
and  here  was  finally  brought  to  adjustment 
the  smouldering  rivalry  between  the  two  small 
boys. 


XVI 

THE    THIRD    STORY 

Bobby's  room  was  also  in  the  third  story  and 
up  among  the  gables.  It  slanted  here,  it  slanted 
there,  steeply  or  gradually  according  to  the 
demands  of  the  roof  outside.  There  May, 
Johnny  and  Martin  curled  up  on  the  western 
window  seat;  Bobby  and  Carter  Irvine  sat  on 
the  floor;  Caroline  drew  up  a  straight-back 
chair.  Then  while  the  twilight  lasted  they 
"talked,"  in  children's  aimless  fashion,  about 
everything,  anything  or  nothing. 
By  and  by  somebody  yawned. 
"My,  it's  getting  dark.  Light  up,  Johnny." 
Then  could  be  seen  the  prize  attraction  of 
the  room  —  the  deal  table  on  which  one  could 
use  ink,  mucilage,  scissors  and  other  dangerous 
weapons.  Here  was  screwed  the  toy  printing 
press.  Bobby,  after  a  few  further  attempts 
to  adopt  the  regulation  fonts  of  type  to  its  chase, 
had  rather  lost  interest  in  it,  but  his  new  com 
panions  revived  it.  He  showed  them  exactly 

243 


244  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

how  to  get  clear  and  good  impressions,  and  in 
the  explanation  proved  a  most  comfortable 
glow  over  finding  something  at  last  in  which 
he  was  distinctly  and  indisputably  superior. 
All  had  to  have  cards  printed.  Each  bought 
his  own  and  set  up  his  own  type;  Bobby  made 
adjustments,  and  then  again  each  was  privileged 
to  make  his  own  impressions. 

Johnny  English,  however,  was  keenly  alive 
to  the  commercial  aspects  of  the  case.  One 
day  he  appeared  in  triumph  bearing  an  order 
from  Mr.  Ellison's  wholesale  house.  It  read 
quite  simply:  "Use  Star  Stove  Polish,"  a  legend 
well  within  the  possibilities  of  the  little  press. 

"Got  an  order  for  a  thousand  of  'em!"  cried 
Johnny  triumphantly.  "We're  to  print  them 
and  distribute  them.  We  get  four  dollars  for 
it!" 

Four  dollars  was  untold  wealth,  though, 
counting  the  distribution,  Mr.  Ellison's  firm 
stood  to  gain  on  regular  rates  —  provided  it 
really  cared  thus  to  advertise  Star  Stove  Polish. 
To  active  youngsters  the  wandering  up  one 
street  and  down  another,  leaving  cards  at  every 
house,  handing  cards  to  every  passer-by,  was 
a  huge  lark.  When  the  four  dollars  were  paid, 
it  seemed  almost  like  getting  a  Christmas 


THE  THIRD   STORY  245 

present  out  of  season.  Johnny's  imagination 
was  fired. 

"There's    lots    of   printing   we    might    get," 

said  he.     "Look  at  all  the  envelopes  my  papa 

uses,  and  there's  his  letter-heads,  and  bill-heads 

-and  lots  else.     But  we  can't  do  it  on  that 

thing!     It  takes  different  kinds  of  type." 

Thereupon  Bobby  got  out  his  catalogues  and 
told  them  of  the  second-hand  self-inker  to  be 
had  for  twenty-five  dollars,  Enthusiasm  burned 
at  fever  heat  for  about  three  days,  then  the 
sickening  realization  that  the  total  capital  of 
Orde  &  English,  Job  Printers  —  including  the 
four  dollars  —  was  just  seven-thirty  pricked 
that  bright  dream.  The  approach  of  Christmas 
inspired  Johnny  with  a  new  idea.  He  and 
Bobby  risked  a  half-dollar  of  the  capital  in 
cards  embossed  with  holly  wreaths.  On  these 

they  printed  "Merry  Christmas,  From to 

."  These  had  an  encouraging  sale  among 

immediate  relatives. 

But  in  spite  of  these  gratifying  commercial  ven 
tures,  Bobby's  disgust  grew.  It  might  make 
marks  on  paper;  it  might  earn  money,  but  it 
would  not  take  full-sized  type,  it  would  not  print 
more  than  two  lines.  By  these  same  tokens  it 
was  not  a  printing  press,  but  a  toy;  not  the  real 


246  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

thing,  but  an  imitation,  and  Bobby  was  out 
growing  imitations.  Finally  he  made  a  definite 
statement  of  principle. 

"I'm  not  going  to  use  her  any  more,"  said  he 
with  decision,  "I'm  sick  of  the  old  thing." 

"But  I've  just  got  an  order  for  fifty  cards 
from  Mrs.  Fowler!"  expostulated  Johnny. 

"Then  go  on,  do  them,"  replied  Bobby. 
"I  won't." 

He  retired  to  the  corner,  leaving  Johnny 
wrathful.  There  for  the  thousandth  time  he 
pored  over  the  pages  of  the  catalogue  showing 
the  beautiful  5x7  self-inking  press. 


XVII 


"SLIDING  DOWN  HILL" 


One  morning  Bobby  awoke  before  daylight. 
It  might  have  been  the  middle  of  the  night 
except  that,  far  down  in  the  still  house,  he  heard 
a  muffled  scrape  and  clank  as  Martin  set  the 
furnace  in  order  for  the  day.  Bobby  knew 
six  o'clock  by  these  dull,  distant,  comfortable 
sounds.  The  air  in  the  room  was  very  frosty 
and  Bobby's  nose  was  as  cold  as  a  dog's;  but 
underneath  the  warm  double  blanket  and  the 
eider-down  quilted  comforter  Bobby  had  made 
himself  a  warm  nest.  In  this  he  curled  in  a 
tight  little  ball.  Not  for  worlds  would  he  have 
stretched  his  legs  down  into  shivery  regions, 
and  though  he  was  not  drowsy  and  did  not  care 
to  sleep,  not  for  worlds  would  he  have  left  his 
lair  before  the  radiator  had  warmed. 

So  he  lay  there  waiting  and  watching  where 
the  window  ought  to  be  for  the  first  signs  of 
daylight.  Bobby  liked  to  amuse  himself  trying 
to  define  just  when  the  window  became  visible. 


248  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

He  never  could.  So  this  morning,  some  time, 
no  time,  Bobby  saw  a  dull  gray  rectangle  where 
darkness  had  been,  and  knew  that  day  had 
arrived.  Over  in  the  corner  the  radiator  was 
singing  softly  with  the  first  steam.  Slowly 
the  reluctant  daylight  filtered  in,  showing  in  dim 
outline  the  familiar  objects  in  the  room. 

Bobby  was  just  dozing  when  an  unexpected 
sound  from  outside  brought  him  wide  awake. 
He  sat  up  in  bed  the  better  to  hear.  Far 
in  the  distance,  but  momently  nearing,  rang  a 
faint  jingle  of  bells.  At  the  same  moment 
there  began  a  methodical  scrape,  scrape,  scrape 
immediately  outside  the  house. 

Without  a  thought  of  the  cold  air  of  the  room, 
nor  the  warm  flannel  dressing  gown,  nor  the 
knit  bedroom  socks,  Bobby  leaped  out  and 
pattered  to  the  window.  This  was  covered 
thick  with  frost  crystals,  but  Bobby  breathed 
on  them,  and  rubbed  them  with  the  heel  of  his 
palm,  and  so  acquired  a  sight-hole. 

"Snow!"  he  murmured  ecstatically  to 
himself. 

The  outer  world  was  very  still  and  bathed  in 
a  cold  half-light.  Over  everything  lay  a  thick 
covering  of  white.  The  lawn,  the  sidewalks,  the 
street,  the  roofs  of  houses  were  hidden  by  it; 


"SLIDING  DOWN  HILL"  249 

the  top  of  the  fence  was  outlined  with  it;  great 
mantles  draped  the  post  tops  and  the  fans  of 
the  fir  tree;  every  branch  and  twig  of  every 
tree  bore  its  burden;  Martin,  wielding  a  very 
broad  wooden  shovel,  was  engaged  in  clearing 
a  way  to  the  front  gate.  Just  as  Bobby  looked 
out,  the  milkman,  his  vehicle  on  runners  and 
his  team  decorated  with  the  strings  of  bells 
that  had  aroused  the  little  boy,  drove  up, 
dropped  his  hitch-weight  and  with  the  milk 
man's  peculiar  rapid  gait,  trotted  around  to  the 
back  door.  The  breath  of  Martin  and  the 
milkman  and  his  two  horses  ascended  in  the 
still  air  like  steam.  Bobby  heard  the  loud 
shrieking  of  the  snow  as  it  was  trodden,  and 
knew  that  it  must  be  very  cold. 

He  dressed  and  went  down  stairs.  Amanda, 
with  her  head  tied  in  a  duster,  was  putting  things 
to  rights.  Bobby  could  find  none  of  his  snow 
clothes  and  Amanda  was  unable  or  unwilling 
to  help  him,  so  to  his  disappointment  he  could 
not  join  Martin.  However,  he  opened 
the  front  door  and  peeked  at  the  cold- 
looking  thermometer. 

"My,"  said  he  to  Amanda,  scurrying  back 
to  the  new-lighted  fire,  "it's  only  four  above!" 

This  information  he  proffered  with  an  air  of 


250  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

pride  to  each  member  of  the  family  as  he  or  she 
appeared.  Bobby  took  a  personal  satisfaction 
in  the  coldness  of  the  weather,  as  though  he 
had  ordered  it  himself. 

In  the  meantime  he  watched  Martin  from  the 
window.  Shortly  the  municipal  snow-plow 
passed,  throwing  the  snow  to  right  and  left, 
its  one  horse  plodding  patiently  along  the  side 
walk,  its  driver  humped  over,  smoking  his  pipe. 
One  of  Bobby's  ambitions  used  to  be  to  drive 
the  municipal  snow-plow  when  he  grew  up. 

After  breakfast,  in  the  customary  sequence 
of  events,  came  lessons.  They  naturally  seemed 
interminable,  and  indeed,  lasted  much  longer 
than  usual,  because  Bobby  was  unable  to  give 
his  whole  mind  to  the  task.  At  last  they  were 
over.  Under  Mrs.  Orde's  supervision  Bobby 
donned  (a)  heavy  knit,  woollen  leggings  that 
drew  on  over  his  shoes  and  pinned  to  his  trousers 
above  the  knee;  (b)  fleece-lined  arctic  over 
shoes;  (c)  a  short,  thick,  cloth  jacket;  (d)  a 
long  knit  tippet  that  went  twice  around  his 
neck,  crossed  on  his  chest,  again  at  the  small 
of  his  back,  passed  around  his  waist,  and  tied 
in  front;  (e)  a  pair  of  red  knit  mittens;  (f)  a 
tasselled  knit  cap  that  pulled  down  over  his 
ears.  Thus  equipped,  snow-  and  cold-proof, 


" SLIDING  DOWN  HILL"  251 

he  passed  through  the  refrigerator-like  storm 
porch,  and  stood  on  the  front  steps. 

The  sun  was  up  and  before  him  the  facets 
of  the  snow  sparkled  like  millions  and  millions 
of  tiny  diamonds.  Across  it  the  shadows  of  the 
trees  lay  blue.  In  Bobby's  nostrils  the  crisp 
air  nipped  delightfully  just  short  of  pain. 

What  did  Bobby  do  first?  Waded,  to  be 
sure.  He  found  the  deepest  drift,  augmented 
somewhat  by  Martin's  shovel,  and  wallowed 
laboriously  and  happily  through  it.  Twice 
he  was  unable  to  extricate  his  foot  in  time  to 
prevent  a  glorious  tumble  from  which  he  arose 
covered  from  crown  to  toe  with  the  powdery 
crystals.  The  temperature  was  so  low  that 
they  did  not  melt,  although  just  inside  the  tops 
of  the  arctics  thin  bands  of  snow  packed  tight. 
These  Bobby  occasionally  removed  with  his 
forefinger. 

Bobby  waded  happily.  On  either  side  the 
broad  walk  were  tall  mounds  of  the  snow  that 
Martin  had  shovelled  aside.  Bobby  found 
these  waist-deep.  The  lawn  itself  was  only  knee- 
deep,  but  it  offered  a  beautiful  smooth  surface. 
Duke  appeared  about  this  time  and  frisked 
back  and  forth  madly,  his  forefeet  extended, 
his  chest  to  the  earth,  his  face  illuminated  with 


252  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

a  joyous  doggy  grin.  He  would  run  directly 
at  Bobby,  as  though  to  collide  with  him,  swerve 
at  the  last  moment  and  go  tearing  away  in 
circles,  his  hind-legs  tucked  well  under  him. 
The  smooth  white  surface  of  the  lawn  became 
sadly  marred.  Bobby  was  vexed  at  this  and 
uttered  fierce  commands  to  which  Duke  paid 
not  the  slightest  attention.  The  little  boy 
made  patterns  in  which  he  stepped  conscien 
tiously,  pretending  he  could  not  "get  off  the 
track."  Of  course  he  tried  to  make  snow 
balls,  but  tossed  from  him  in  disgust  the  feather- 
light  result. 

"  No  packing,"  said  he. 

About  this  time  Martin  reappeared,  after  his 
own  breakfast,  to  finish  cleaning  the  walks. 
Bobby  begged  the  fire  shovel  and  assisted. 

When  lunch  time  came  Bobby  entered  the 
storm-porch  and  stood  patiently  while  he  was 
brushed  off.  The  entrance  to  the  warm  air 
inside  promptly  turned  the  crystals  still  adhering 
to  the  interstices  of  the  knit  garments  into  glit 
tering  drops  of  water.  Bobby  made  tiny  little 
puddles  where  he  disrobed  —  to  his  delight 
and  Amanda's  disgust.  The  damp  clothes  were 
hung  to  dry  behind  the  kitchen  stove,  and  Bobby 
sat  down  to  a  tremendous  lunch. 


"SLIDING  DOWN  HILL"  253 

After  lunch  Bobby  went  out-doors  again,  but 
the  novelty  had  worn  off  and  his  main  thought 
was  one  of  impatience  for  three  o'clock  to 
release  his  friends  from  school.  The  snow  was 
not  yet  packed  well  enough  to  make  the  sleigh 
ing  very  good,  but  everybody  in  town  was  out. 
Cutters,  their  thills  to  one  side  so  the  driver 
could  see  past  the  horse;  two-seated  higher 
sleighs;  the  gorgeous  plumed  and  luxurious 
conveyances  of  the  elite  —  all  these  streamed 
by,  packing  the  street  every  moment  into  a 
better  and  better  surface. 

And  then,  before  Bobby  had  realized  it  could 
be  so  late,  a  first,  faint,  long-drawn  and  peculiar 
shout  began  far  away;  grew  steadily  in  volume. 
Bobby  ran  out  to  the  middle  of  the  road. 

This  street  began  at  the  top  of  a  low,  long 
hill  eight  blocks  above  the  Orde  place  and  ended 
three  blocks  below.  Coming  toward  him  rap 
idly  Bobby  saw  a  long  dark  object  from  which 
the  sound  issued.  In  a  moment,  slowing  every 
foot  because  of  the  level  ground  and  the  still 
heavy  snow  surface  of  the  road-bed,  it  passed 
him.  He  saw  a  ten-foot  pair  of  bobs  laden 
with  children  seated  astraddle  the  board.  Each 
child  held  up  the  legs  of  the  one  behind.  In 
front,  the  steersman,  his  feet  braced  against 


254  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

the  cross-pieces,  guided  by  means  of  ropes 
leading  to  the  points  of  the  leading  sled.  At  the 
rear  the  "pusher  off"  half  reclined,  graceful 
and  nonchalant.  With  the  exception  of  the 
steersman,  who  was  too  busy,  each  had  his 
mouth  wide  open  and  was  expirating  in  one 
long-drawn  continuous  vowel-sound.  This 
vowel-sound  was  originally  the  first  part  of  the 
word  "out."  It  had  long  since  become  con 
ventionalized,  but  still  served  its  purpose  as  a 
warning. 

Slower  and  slower  crept  the  bobs.  The 
passengers  ceased  yelling  and  began  to  move 
their  bodies  back  and  forth  in  jerks,  as  does 
the  coxwain  of  a  racing  shell.  Even  after  the 
bobs  had  come  to  a  complete  standstill,  they 
sat  a  moment  on  the  off-chance  of  another  inch 
of  gain.  Then  all  at  once  the  compact  missile 
disintegrated.  The  steersman  made  a  mark 
in  the  snow  at  the  side  to  show  how  far  they 
had  gone.  Three  seized  the  ropes  and  began 
to  drag  the  bobs  back  toward  the  hill.  The 
rest  fell  in,  trudging  behind. 

But  already  from  the  group  at  the  top,  con 
fused  by  distance,  other  swift  black  objects 
at  spaced  intervals  had  detached  and  came 
hurtling  down.  Some  of  them  were  bob-sleds; 


"SLIDING  DOWN   HILL"  255 

others  hand-sleds  carrying  but  a  single  pas 
senger.  Bobby  stood  by  the  gate  post  watching 
them.  Each  pair  of  bobs  made  its  best  on 
distance,  trying  for  the  record  of  the  "farthest 
down."  Although  the  temptation  must  have 
been  great,  nobody  cheated  by  so  much  as  the 
smallest  push. 

Bobby  owned  a  sled  on  which  he  used  to 
coast.  It  reposed  now  in  the  barn.  He  wanted 
very  much  to  slide  down  hill,  but  he  left 
the  sled  in  its  resting  place.  Why  ?  Because 
already  Bobby  had  grown  into  big  boy's  estate. 
He  knew  his  sled  would  arouse  derision  and 
contempt.  It  had  flat  runners!  And  it  curved 
far  up  in  front!  And  it  was  built  on  a  skeleton 
framework!  What  Bobby  wanted,  if  he  were 
to  join  the  coasting  world  at  all,  was  a  long, 
low,  solid,  rakish-built  affair  with  round  "  spring 
runners."  Even  "three-quarters"  would  not 
do  for  his  present  ideas. 

By  now  the  hill  was  alive.  A  steady  suc 
cession  of  arrow-like  flights  was  balanced  by 
the  slow  upward  crawlings,  on  either  side,  of 
dozens  returning  afoot.  The  mark  set  by  the 
first  bobs  had  been  passed  and  passed  again. 
New  records  became  a  matter  of  inches. 

At   last    Bobby  saw  bearing  down  on  him  a 


256  THE  ADVENTURES  OP  BOBBY  ORDE 

magnificent  bobs  that  had  not  before  appeared. 
It  was  gliding  evenly  where  others  usually 
began  to  slow  up.  Its  board  was  twelve  feet 
long.  Foot-rails  obviated  the  necessity  of  hold 
ing  legs.  Its  sleds  were  long  and  substantial 
and  evidently  built  solely  as  bob-sleds  and  not, 
as  most,  to  be  detached  and  used  for  hand 
sleds  as  well.  The  eight  occupants  began  to 
"jounce"  when  opposite  the  Orde  place,  and 
Bobby  saw  with  admiration  that  this  was  a 
"spring  bobs."  That  is  to  say:  the  board  con 
necting  the  sleds  was  not  of  rigid  pine,  like  the 
others,  but  of  hickory  which  bent  like  a  buck- 
board.  When  the  occupants  "jounced,"  the 
spring  of  this  board  naturally  helped  the  bobs 
to  keep  going  for  some  distance  after  it  would 
ordinarily  have  come  to  a  stand-still. 

This  scientific  bobs  easily  excelled  all  pre 
vious  records.  Its  steersman  made  a  triumphant 
mark,  a  full  half-block  beyond  the  farthest.  So 
lost  in  admiration  of  the  vehicle  had  Bobby 
been  that  he  had  failed  even  to  glance  at  its 
occupants.  Now  as  they  returned,  dragging 
the  bobs  after  them,  he  recognized  in  the  steers 
man  Carter  Irvine,  and  in  the  others  the  rest  of 
his  intimate  friends.  At  the  same  instant  they 
recognized  him  and  greeted  him  with  a  shout. 


"SLIDING  DOWN  HILL"  257 

"Come  on  slide!"  they  called. 

Bobby  joyously  laid  hand  on  the  steer-rope 
and  began  to  help  up  the  hill. 

The  centre  of  the  street  was  entirely  given 
over  to  the  coasters  darting  down.  On  either 
side  those  ascending  toiled,  helped  occasionally 
by  the  good-natured  driver  of  a  cutter  or  deliv 
ery  sleigh.  Then  the  steer-ropes  were  passed 
around  a  runner  support  of  the  cutter  and  held 
by  the  steersman  who  perched  on  the  front  of 
the  bobs.  Thus  if  the  bobs  upset,  or  the  horse 
went  too  fast,  he  could  detach  the  bobs  from  the 
cutter  by  the  simple  expedient  of  letting  go  the 
rope.  All  the  others  immediately  piled  on  to  get 
the  benefit  of  the  ride.  Some  preferred  to 
stand  atop  the  cutter's  runners.  It  lent  a 
pleasant  sensation  of  a  sort  of  supernatural 
gliding,  this  standing,  upright  and  motionless, 
but  nevertheless  moving  forward  at  a  good  rate 
of  speed.  Certain  drivers  refused,  however, 
to  allow  these  liberties,  but  scowled  blackly 
when  addressed  by  the  usual  cheerful  "  Give  us 
a  ride,  Mister?"  To  catch  surreptitious  rides 
with  them  was  considered  a  desirable  feat. 
Certain  daring  youngsters  stole  up  behind  and 
crouched  low  against  the  runners.  Occasionally 
they  escaped  detection,  but  generally  tasted 


258  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

the  sting  of  the  whip-lash  as  it  curled  viciously 
backward.  Then  arose  from  the  whole  hill 
the  derisive  cry  of  "whip  behind!" 

At  the  top  Bobby  found  a  large  crowd  await 
ing  its  turn.  Some  he  knew,  others  were 
strangers  to  him.  All  classes  were  represented, 
rich  and  poor,  rough  and  gentle.  To  one  side 
the  girls  and  smallest  boys  were  sliding  decor 
ously  a  hundred  feet  or  so  down  the  deeper 
snow  of  the  gutter.  They  sat  facing  forward 
on  high  framework  sleds  with  flat  runners,  one 
foot  on  either  side.  Whenever  the  sled  showed 
indications  of  speed,  the  feet  were  used  as  brakes. 
The  little  girls  were  dressed  very  warmly  in 
leggings,  arctics,  flannel  petticoats  and  heavy 
dresses,  and  wore  tied  close  about  their  heads 
knit  or  fuzzy  gray  hoods  that  framed  their 
red  cheeks  bewitchingly.  Bobby  had  always 
coasted  in  this  manner,  but  now  he  looked  on 
them  with  a  sort  of  pitying  contempt. 

The  main  group  stood  waiting.  New-comers 
fell  in  behind  so  that  some  rough  semblance  of 
rotation  was  maintained.  The  bobs'  crews 
settled  themselves  with  the  deftness  of  long 
practice.  Then  bending  to  his  task  the  pusher  at 
the  rear  dug  his  toes  in,  while  the  others  hunched. 
With  a  creak  the  runners  gave  way  their  hold 


"SLIDING  DOWN  HILL"  259 

on  the  frozen  snow;  the  bobs  began  slowly  to 
move.  As  momentum  and  the  downward  curve 
of  the  hill  exerted  their  influence,  the  pusher 
found  his  task  easier  and  easier.  His  then  the 
nice  decision  as  to  just  how  long  to  continue  to 
push.  To  jump  on  too  soon  was  a  disgrace; 
to  delay  too  long  was  a  certainty  of  rolling  over 
and  over  in  the  snow  while  your  bobs  went  on 
without  you.  The  artistic  pusher  came  aboard 
gracefully,  with  a  flying,  forward  leap,  at  the 
precise  moment  when  the  equilibrium  of  forces 
permitted  him  to  alight  as  softly  as  a  thistle 
down.  The  bobs  shot  away  in  a  whirl  of  snow- 
dust. 

Immediately  stepped  forth  a  tall,  gawky 
youth  clad  in  dull  brown,  faded  garments,  with 
out  mittens,  without  overshoes,  his  hands  purple, 
but  with  a  long,  low,  narrow  sled  as  tall  as  him 
self.  His  left  hand  clasped  the  front,  his 
right  hand  the  back.  The  sled  slanted  across 
his  body.  A  dozen  swift  steps  he  ran  forward 
flung  the  sled  headlong  with  a  smack  against 
the  road  and  followed  lightly  to  the  little  deck. 
There  he  crouched,  reclining  on  his  left  forearm, 
his  left  thigh  doubled  under  him,  his  head 
thrust  forward,  his  right  leg  extended.  A 
magnificent  start!  So  perfect  was  his  balance 


260  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

that  the  merest  touch  of  his  right  toe  to  one 
side  or  the  other  sufficed  for  steering.  In  an 
instant  he  shot  close  to  the  bobs  ahead. 

"Out!  out!  out!  out!"  he  cried  in  a  sharp 
stacatto  —  very  different  from  the  general  long- 
drawn  out  warning. 

The  bobs  swerved  and  he  darted  by  with 
lofty  and  oblivious  superiority. 

In  the  meantime  another  boy  had  stepped 
forward  carrying  his  sled  directly  in  front  of  him, 
a  hand  on  either  side.  He,  too,  ran  forward, 
but  cast  himself  and  sled  with  a  mighty  crash 
into  the  road.  He  disappeared  lying  flat  on 
his  stomach,  his  hands  grasping  each  a  pro 
jecting  runner,  his  legs  spread  wide  apart. 

"Belly  flop!"  remarked  the  steersman  of  the 
next  bobs,  waiting.  No  great  speed  was  possible 
by  this  antiquated  method,  so  it  was  necessary 
to  give  the  despised  belly-flopper  a  good  start. 

Among  those  whose  turns  did  not  come  soon 
was  great  rivalry  in  the  matter  of  sled-runners. 
Flat  bands  were  negligible  and  assigned  to 
girls,  quarter-rounds  and  half-rounds  were  some 
what  but  not  much  better,  although  several 
orthodox-shaped  sleds  were  fitted  with  them. 
As  between  three-quarters  and  full-round  spring 
runners,  however,  was  room  for  argument, 


"SLIDING   DOWN  HILL"  261 

and  endless  and  partisan  discussion  obtained. 
This  was  a  matter  of  opinion.  A  question  of 
comparison  was  the  relative  wear  and  bright 
ness  of  the  metals.  This  must  be  caused  by 
use  only.  The  employment  of  sandpaper  would 
be  to  your  small  boy  what  --  well,  what  dynamit 
ing  trout  would  be  to  your  fly-fisherman. 

The  twilight  and  the  frost  were  already 
descending.  Soon  the  lamp-lighter  with  his 
torch  and  his  little  ladder  came  nimbly  down 
the  street.  On  the  down  trip  Bobby  found  his 
mother  waiting  by  the  gate,  a  heavy  shawl 
thrown  over  her  head  and  shoulders.  In  the 
darkness,  and  after  the  cold,  pale  moon  had 
climbed  the  heavens,  the  hill  continued  thronged. 
About  eight  o'clock  many  of  the  younger  grown 
ups  arrived.  But  Bobby  had  to  go  to  bed,  and 
he  fell  asleep  with  snatches  of  conversation,  the 
shriek  of  runners  and  the  weird  ululation  of 
warning  ringing  in  his  ears. 


XVIII 

CHRISTMAS 

Within  a  week  of  Christmas  Bobby  suddenly 
awoke  to  the  fact  that  he  must  go  shopping. 
He  found  that  in  ready  money  he  possessed 
just  one  dollar  and  sixty-two  cents;  the  rest  he 
banked  at  interest  with  his  father.  With  this 
amount  he  would  have  to  purchase  gifts  for 
the  four  of  his  immediate  household,  Celia  and 
Mr.  Kincaid,  of  course.  Besides  them  he  would 
have  liked  to  get  something  for  Auntie  Kate, 
and  possibly  Johnnie  and  Carter. 

Down  town,  whither  he  was  allowed  to 
trudge  one  morning  after  lessons,  he  found 
bright  and  gay  with  the  holiday  spirit.  Every 
shop  window  had  its  holly  and  red  ribbon; 
and  most  proper  glittering  window  displays 
appropriate  to  the  season.  In  front  of  the 
grocery  stores,  stacked  up  against  the  edges  of  the 
sidewalks,  were  rows  and  rows  of  Christmas 
trees,  their  branches  tied  up  primly,  awaiting 
purchasers.  The  sidewalks  were  crowded  with 

262 


CHRISTMAS  263 

people,  hurrying  in  and  out  of  the  shops,  their 
lips  smiling  but  their  eyes  preoccupied.  Cutters, 
sleighs,  delivery  wagons  on  runners,  dashed  up 
and  down  the  street  to  a  continued  merry 
jingling  of  bells.  Slower  farmers  on  sturdy 
sled  runners  crept  back  and  forth.  A  jolly 
sun  peeked  down  between  the  tall  buildings. 
The  air  was  crisp  as  frost-ice. 

Bobby  wandered  down  one  side  the  street 
and  back  the  other,  enjoying  hugely  the  varied 
scene,  stopping  to  look  with  a  child's  sense  of 
fascination  into  even  the  hat-store  windows. 
He  made  his  purchases  circumspectly,  and  not 
all  on  the  same  day.  Only  after  much  hunting 
of  five-  and  ten-cent  departments,  much  investi 
gation  of  relative  merits,  did  he  come  to  his 
decision.  Then,  his  mind  at  rest,  he  retired 
to  his  own  room  where  he  did  up  extraordinarily 
clumsy  packages  with  white  string,  and  laid 
them  away  in  the  bottom  of  his  bureau  drawer. 

Three  days  before  Christmas  the  tree  was 
delivered.  Martin  and  Mr.  Orde  installed  it 
in  the  parlour.  First  they  brought  in  a  wash- 
tub,  then  from  its  resting  place  since  last  year, 
they  hunted  out  its  wooden  cover  with  the  hole 
in  the  top.  Through  the  hole  the  butt  of  the 
tree  was  thrust;  and  there  it  was  solid  as  a 


264  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

church!     It  was  a  very  nice  tree,  and  its  top 
most  finger  just  brushed  the  ceiling. 

Now  Bobby  had  new  occupation  which  kept 
him  so  busy  that  he  had  no  more  time  for  coast 
ing.  Grandma  Orde  gave  him  a  spool  of  stout 
linen  thread,  a  thimble,  and  a  long  needle  with 
a  big  eye.  Bobby,  a  pan  of  cranberries  between 
his  knees,  threaded  the  pretty  red  spheres  in 
long  strings.  He  liked  to  pierce  their  flesh 
with  the  needle,  and  then  to  draw  them  down 
the  long  thread,  like  beads.  The  juice  of  them 
dyed  the  thread  crimson,  as  indeed  it  also 
stained  Bobby's  finger  and  anything  they 
happened  subsequently  to  touch.  As  each  long 
string  was  completed,  Bobby  went  into  the 
chilly  parlour  and  reverently  festooned  it  from 
branch  to  branch  of  the  tree.  It  was  astonish 
ing  what  a  festive  air  the  red  imparted  to  the 
sombre  green.  When  finally  the  pan  was 
emptied  of  cranberries,  it  was  replenished  with 
popcorn.  Bobby  unhooked  the  long-handled 
wire  popper  from  its  nail  in  the  back  entry 
and  set  to  work  over  the  open  fire.  It  was 
great  fun  to  hear  the  corn  explode;  and  great 
fun  to  keep  it  shaking  and  turning  until  the 
wire  cage  was  filled  to  its  capacity  with  this 
indoor  snow.  Once  Bobby  neglected  to  fasten 


CHRISTMAS  265 

the  top  securely,  and  the  first  miniature  explosion 
blew  it  open  so  that  the  popcorn  deluged  into  the 
fire.  When  the  last  little  cannon  —  for  so  Bobby 
always  imagined  them  —  had  uttered  its  belated 
voice,  Bobby  knocked  loose  the  fastening  and 
poured  the  white,  beautiful  corn  into  the  pan. 
Always  were  some  kernels  which  had  refused  to 
expand.  "Old  Maids,"  Bobby  called  them. 

This  popcorn,  too,  was  to  be  strung  by  needle 
and  thread.  It  was  a  difficult  task.  The 
corn  was  apt  to  split,  or  to  prove  impervious  to 
the  needle.  However,  the  strings  were  wonder 
ful,  like  giant  snowdrops  shackled  together  to 
do  honour  to  the  spirit  of  Christmas.  Bobby 
hung  them  also  on  the  branches  of  the  tree. 
His  part  of  the  celebration  was  finished. 

Mrs.  Orde  believed  that  Christmas  excite 
ment  should  have  a  full  day  in  which  to  expend 
itself;  so  Christmas  eve  offered  nothing  except 
a  throbbing  anticipation.  One  old  custom, 
however,  was  observed  as  usual.  After  supper 
Mr.  Orde  seated  himself  in  front  of  the  fire. 

"Get  the  book,  Bobby,"  said  he. 

Bobby  had  the  book  all  ready.  It  was  a  very 
thin  wide  book,  printed  entirely  on  linen,  in 
bright  colours,  and  was  somewhat  cracked 
and  ragged,  as  though  it  had  seen  much  service. 


266  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

Bobby  presented  this  to  his  father  and  climbed 
on  his  knee.  Mr.  Orde  opened  the  book  and 
began  to  read  that  one  verse  of  all  verses  replete 
to  childhood  with  the  very  essence  of  this  chil 
dren's  season: 

"'Twas  the  night  before  Christmas,  and  all 

through  the  house 

Not  a  creature  was  stirring,  not  even  a  mouse. 
The  stockings  all  hung  by  the  chimney  with 

care 
In  the  hope  that  St.   Nicholas  soon  would 

be  there." 

As  the  reading  progressed,  Bobby  thrilled 
more  and  more  at  the  cumulation  of  the  interest. 
St.  Nick's  cry  to  his  steeds : 

" Now  Dolly,  now  Vixen! 

Now  Feather!  now  SnowbaU!  Now  Dunder 
and  Bliteen! " 

brought  his  heart  to  his  mouth  with  excitement 
that  culminated  in  that  final  surge: 

"  To  the  top  of  the  house,  to  the  top  of  the  wall, 
Now  dash  away!  dash  away!  dash  away,  all!" 


CHRISTMAS  267 

When  the  reading  was  finished  he  sank  back 
with  a  happy  sigh. 

"Now  story,"  said  he,  and  became  once  more 
for  this  evening  the  little  child  of  a  year  back. 

He  listened  with  satisfaction  to  his  father's 
unvarying  Christmas  story  of  the  Good  Little 
Boy  who  went  to  bed  and  slept  soundly  and 
awoke  to  varied  gorgeousness  of  gifts;  and 
the  Bad  Little  Boy  who  slipped  out  and 
"hooked"  a  ride  on  Santa  Claus's  very  sleigh, 
and  next  morning,  on  seeing  his  stocking  full 
congratulated  himself  that  he  had  been  unob 
served;  but  on  opening  the  stocking  beheld 
a  magic  ruler  that  followed  him  everywhere 
he  went  and  spanked  him  vigorously  and 
continuously:  "Even  into  the  conservatory?" 
Bobby  in  his  believing  infancy  used  to  ask. 
"Even  into  the  conservatory,"  his  father  would 
solemnly  reply. 

After  the  story  Bobby  had  to  go  to  bed. 

"And  look  out  you  don't  open  your  eyes  if 
you  hear  Santa  Claus  in  the  room,"  warned  his 
mother.  "Because  if  you  do,  he  won't  leave 
you  any  presents!" 

Bobby  kissed  them  all  and  trudged  upstairs. 
He  was  too  old  to  believe  in  Santa  Claus.  His 
attitude  during  the  rest  of  the  year  was  frank 


268  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

scepticism,  Yet  when  Christmas  eve  came 
around,  he  found  that  he  had  retained  just 
enough  faith  to  be  doubtful.  It  was  manifestly 
impossible  that  such  a  person  could  exist; 
and  yet  there  remained  the  faint  chance. 
Nobody  believes  that  horseshoes  bring  luck; 
and  yet  we  all  pick  them  up.  Bobby  resolved, 
as  usual,  to  stay  awake.  Once  in  former  years 
he  had  awakened  in  the  dark  hours.  He  had 
become  conscious  of  a  bright  and  unusual  light 
in  the  street,  and  had  hidden  his  head,  fairly 
convinced  that  Santa  was  passing.  Nobody 
told  Bobby  that  the  light  was  the  lantern  on  a 
wagon  making  late  deliveries.  To-night  he 
hung  his  stocking  at  the  foot  of  his  bed,  resolved 
to  see  who  filled  it.  The  Tree  was  not  to  be 
unveiled  until  ten  o'clock;  and  it  was  ridiculous 
to  expect  a  small  boy  to  wait  until  then  without 
anything.  Hence  the  stocking. 

Bobby  must  have  stayed  awake  an  hour. 
The  room  gradually  became  cold.  A  dozen 
times  his  thoughts  began  to  swell  into  queer 
ideas,  and  as  many  times  he  brought  himself 
back  to  complete  consciousness.  Then  quite 
distinctly  he  heard  the  sound  of  sleighbells, 
faint  and  far  and  continuous.  Bobby's  sleepy 
thoughts  resolved  about  the  old  Question.  This 


CHRISTMAS  269 

might  be  Santa.  Dared  he  look  ?  As  his  faculties 
cleared,  his  common-sense  resumed  sway.  He 
turned  over  in  bed.  Then  he  found  that  the 
faint  far  sound  was  not  of  sleighbells  at  all,  but 
of  the  first  steam  singing  to  itself  from  the  radia 
tor;  and  that  the  window  was  gray;  and  in 
the  dim  light  he  could  see  a  dark  irregular,  humpy 
stocking  depending  from  the  foot  of  his  bed. 
He  had  slept.  It  was  Christmas  morning. 

Bobby,  broad  awake  with  the  shock  of  the 
discovery,  crept  hastily  down,  untied  the  bulging 
stocking  and  crawled  back  to  his  warm  nest. 
It  was  yet  too  dark  to  see;  but  he  cuddled  it  to 
him,  and  felt  of  it  all  over,  and  enjoyed  the 
warmth  of  his  bed  in  contrast  to  that  momen 
tary  emergence  into  the  outer  cold. 

Shortly  the  light  strengthened,  however,  and 
the  room  turned  warmer.  Bobby  reached  for 
his  dressing  gown. 

From  the  top  of  the  stocking  projected  two 
fat,  red  and  white  striped  candy  canes  with 
curved  ends.  These,  of  course,  Bobby  drew 
out  carefully  and  laid  aside.  He  knew  by 
former  experiences  that  one  was  flavoured  with 
wintergreen,  the  other  with  peppermint.  They 
were  not  to  be  sampled  "between  meals." 
Next  came  something  hard  and  very  cold. 


270  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

Bobby  dragged  forth  a  pair  of  skates.  They 
were  shining  and  beautiful,  and  when  Bobby, 
with  the  knowledge  of  the  expert,  went  hastily 
into  details,  he  found  them  all  heart  could 
wish  for.  No  effeminate  straps  about  these! 
but  toe-clamps  to  tighten  with  a  key  and  a 
projecting  heel  lock  to  insert  in  a  metal  socket 
in  the  boot's  heel.  This  was  the  piece  de  resist 
ance  of  the  stocking.  Bobby  felt  perfunctorily 
along  the  outside  to  assure  himself  that  the 
usual  two  oranges  and  the  dollar  in  the  toe  were 
in  place;  then  returned  to  gloat  over  his  skates. 
He  wanted  to  use  them  that  very  day;  but 
realized  the  heel  plates  must  be  fitted  to  his 
boots  first.  After  a  few  moments  he  stuffed 
the  skates  back  into  the  stocking,  put  on  his 
bedroom  knit  slippers,  and  stole  shivering 
down  the  steep,  creaking  stairs.  The  door  to 
his  parents'  room  stood  slightly  ajar.  He 
pushed  it  open  cautiously  and  peered  in.  The 
blinds  were  drawn,  and  the  room  was  very  dim, 
so  Bobby  could  make  out  only  the  dark  shape 
of  the  great  four-poster  bed,  and  could  not  tell 
whether  or  not  his  father  and  mother  still 
slept.  For  a  long  time  he  hesitated,  shifting 
uneasily  from  one  foot  to  the  other.  Then  he 
ventured,  only  just  above  a  whisper. 


CHRISTMAS  271 

"Merry  Christmas!"  said  he,  a  little  breath 
lessly. 

But  instantly  he  was  reassured.  There  came 
a  stir  of  bed-clothes  from  the  four-poster. 

"Merry  Christmas,  dear!"  answered  Mrs. 
Orde. 

"Merry  Christmas!  Caught  us,  you  little 
rascal,  didn't  you?"  came  in  his  father's  voice. 

With  a  gurgle  of  delight,  Bobby,  clasping 
his  stocking,  ran  and  leaped  at  one  bound  into 
the  soft  coverlet.  There  he  perched  happily 
and  told  of  his  skates. 

"Suppose  you  open  the  blinds  and  show 
them,"  suggested  Mr.  Orde. 

Bobby  did  so.  Mr.  Orde  examined  the 
skates  with  the  eye  of  a  connoisseur. 

"Seems  to  me  Santa  Claus  has  been  pretty 
good  to  you,"  said  he  finally. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Bobby.  For  the  time  being, 
under  the  glamour  of  the  day,  he  wanted  to 
believe  in  Santa  Claus.  Doubts  had  cold  com 
fort,  for  they  were  shut  entirely  outside  the 
doors  of  his  mind. 

But  before  long  it  was  time  to  get  up.  Bobby 
pattered  across  the  room  and  down  the  hall 
to  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Outside  Grandma 
Orde's  room  he  paused. 


272  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Merry  Christmas,  grandma!"  he  called. 

"Merry  Christmas,  Bobby!"  replied 
Grandma  Orde  promptly. 

"Merry  Christmas,  grandpa!"  repeated 
Bobby. 

"Grandpa  isn't  here,"  replied  Grandma. 

And  on  his  way  back  to  his  own  room  Bobby 
found  Grandpa ;  or  rather  Grandpa  surprised  him 
by  springing  on  him  suddenly  from  behind 
the  corner  with  a  shout  of  "Merry  Christmas!" 
Grandpa  had  been  waiting  there  for  ten  minutes, 
and  was  as  pleased  as  a  child  at  having  caught 
Bobby. 

The  latter  dressed  and  went  hunting  for  other 
game.  Mrs.  Fox  was  an  easy  victim.  Amanda 
he  stalked  most  elaborately,  ducking  below  the 
chairs  and  tables,  exercising  the  utmost  strategy 
to  approach  behind  her  broad  back.  Appar 
ently  his  caution  succeeded  to  admiration. 
Amanda  went  on  peeling  apples,  quite  oblivious. 
And  then,  just  as  he  was  about  to  spring 
upon  her  from  the  rear,  she  remarked,  in  an 
ordinary  tone  of  voice  and  without  moving  her 
head: 

"Merry  Christmas,  ye  young  imp!  I  know 
you're  there!" 

This    was    a    disappointment;    but    Bobby 


CHRISTMAS  273 

bagged  Martin  by  hiding  in  the  storehouse; 
and  Duke  was  too  easy. 

After  breakfast  came  the  inevitable  delay 
during  which  Bobby  sat  and  eyed  the  parlour 
doors.  Mr.  Orde  slipped  in  and  out  of  them 
several  times.  Martin,  too,  entered  on  some 
mysterious  errand  regarding  the  heating. 
Finally  everything  was  pronounced  in  readiness. 
All  the  family  but  Bobby  went  into  the  parlour. 
Suddenly  both  doors  were  thrown  back  at  once. 
Bobby  stood  face  to  face  with  the  Tree. 

It  stood,  glittering  and  glorious,  set  like  a 
jewel  in  the  velvet  of  the  darkened  room.  Only 
the  illumination  of  its  own  many  little  candles 
cast  radiance  on  its  decorations  and  the  parcels 
hung  from  its  branches  and  piled  beneath,  and 
dimly  on  the  half-visible  circle  of  the  family 
sitting  motionless  as  though  part  of  a  spectacle. 

Bobby  drew  a  deep  breath  and  entered. 
What  a  changed  tree  from  the  one  he  had  hung 
with  cranberries  and  popcorn  the  day  before! 
The  cranberries  and  popcorn  were  still  there; 
but  in  addition  were  glittering  balls,  and  strings 
of  silver,  and  coloured  glass  bells,  and  candy 
birds  and  angels  with  spun-glass  wings,  and 
clouds  of  gold  and  silver  tinsel  and  cornucopias, 
and  candy  in  bags  of  pink  net,  and  dozens  of 


274  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

lighted  candles,  and  on  the  very  top  the  great 
silver  Star  of  Bethlehem. 

Most  of  the  gifts  were  wrapped  in  paper  and 
tied  with  green  and  red  ribbon.  Two  or  three, 
however,  were  too  large  for  this  treatment,  and 
stood  exposed  to  view.  Bobby  could  not  help 
seeing  a  sled  —  a  real  sled  —  painted  red.  He 
declined,  however,  to  see  another  larger  article 
quite  on  the  other  side  the  tree.  By  a  perversity 
of  will  he  thrust  it  entirely  out  of  his  head,  as 
though  it  did  not  exist,  unwilling  to  spoil  the 
effect  of  its  final  realization. 

For  a  full  minute  Bobby  stood  in  the  centre 
of  the  stage,  his  sturdy  legs  spread  apart,  his 
hands  clasped  tight  behind  him,  his  eyes  blink 
ing  at  the  splendour.  Finally  he  sighed. 

"My,  that  tree's  just  —  just  —  scrumptious!" 
he  breathed. 

The  interest  that  had  held  the  circle  of  elders 
silent  and  motionless,  like  a  mechanical  setting 
for  the  tree,  broke  in  a  laugh.  Mr.  Orde  arose. 

"  Well,  let's  see  what  we  have,"  said  he. 

He  advanced  and  picked  up  a  package. 

' '  For  Grandma  Orde  from  her  loving  daugh 
ter,'"  he  read  the  inscription.  "Here  you  are, 
grandma.  First  blood!" 

Rapidly  the  distribution  went  forward.     Cries 


CHRISTMAS  275 

of  delight,  of  surprise  and  of  thanks,  the  rustle 
of  many  wrapping  papers  filled  the  air.  Around 
each  member  of  the  family  these  papers,  tossed 
carelessly  aside  in  the  impatience  of  the  moment, 
accumulated  knee-deep.  The  servants,  very 
clean  and  proper  in  their  Sunday  best,  stood 
in  a  constrained  group  near  the  door,  holding 
their  gifts,  still  wrapped,  awkwardly  in  their 
hands. 

Bobby  for  a  few  moments  was  kept  very  busy 
acting  as  messenger.  By  custom  his  was  the 
hand  to  deliver  to  the  servants  their  packages. 
Then  grown-up  excitement  lulled,  and  he  had 
time  to  gloat  over  his  own  formidable  pile. 

The  sled  he  at  once  turned  over.  Glory! 
Its  runners  were  of  the  round-spring  variety  — 
the  very  best.  They  were  dull  blue  and  unpol 
ished  as  yet,  of  course;  but  that  fact  was  merely 
an  incentive  to  much  coasting.  Another  knife 
filled  his  heart  with  joy !  for  naturally  the  birth 
day  knife  was  broken-bladed  by  now.  A  large 
square  package  proved  to  contain  a  model 
steam  engine  with  a  brass  boiler  and  what 
looked  like  a  lead  cylinder;  its  furnace  was 
a  small  alcohol  lamp.  Seven  or  eight  books 
of  varying  interest,  another  pair  of  knit  socks 
from  Auntie  Kate,  a  half-dozen  big  glass 


276  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

marbles,  a  box  of  tin  soldiers  completed  the 
miscellaneous  list.  A  fat,  round,  soft  package, 
when  opened,  disclosed  a  set  of  boxing-gloves. 

"Now  you  and  Johnny  can  have  it  out," 
observed  Mr.  Orde. 

Another  square  package  held  two  volumes 
from  Mr.  Kincaid.  They  were  thick  volumes 
with  pleasant  smelling  red  leather  covers  on 
which  were  stamped  in  gold  the  name  and  the 
figure  of  a  man  in  very  old-fashioned  garments 
aiming  a  very  old-fashioned  fowling-piece  at 
something  outside  of  and  higher  than  the  book. 
"Frank  Forrester's  Sporting  Scenes  and  Charac 
ters:  The  Warwick  Woodlands"  spelled  Bobby. 
He  lingered  a  moment  or  so  over  the  fat  red 
volumes. 

Each  of  the  servants  contributed  to  Bobby's 
array;  for  they  liked  Bobby  and  his  frank 
manly  ways.  Martin  gave  a  red  silk  handker 
chief  whose  borders  showed  a  row  of  horses' 
heads  looking  out  of  mammoth  horseshoes. 
Amanda  presented  him  with  a  pink  china  cup- 
and-saucer  on  which  were  scattered  bright  green 
flowers.  Mrs.  Fox's  offering  was,  character 
istically,  a  net-work  bag  for  carrying  school 
books. 

The  Christmas  tree  was  stripped  of  everything 


CHRISTMAS  277 

but  its  decorations.  Even  some  of  the  candles 
had  burned  dangerously  low  and  had  been 
extinguished.  The  servants  had  slipped  away. 

"Here,  youngster,"  admonished  Mr.  Orde, 
"aren't  you  going  to  get  all  your  presents? 
You  haven't  looked  behind  the  tree  yet." 

And  then  at  last  Bobby  permitted  himself 
to  see  that  of  which  he  had  been  aware  all  the 
time;  but  which,  by  an  effort  of  the  will  he 
had  made  temporarily  as  unreal  to  himself  as 
St  Paul's  in  London.  Behind  the  tree,  furn 
ished,  repainted,  wonderful,  to  be  reverenced, 
stood  high  and  haughty  the  self-inking,  double 
roller,  5x7  printing  press! 

"What  do  you  say  to  that?"  cried  Mr. 
Orde. 

But  Bobby  had  nothing  to  say  to  that.  He 
was  too  overwhelmed.  He  approached  and 
pulled  down  the  long  lever.  Immediately,  as 
the  platen  closed,  the  two  rollers  rose  smoothly 
across  the  form  and  over  the  round  ink-plate, 
which  at  the  same  time  made  a  quarter-revolu 
tion.  At  the  nice  adjustment  and  correlation 
of  these  forces  Bobby  gave  a  cry  of  admiration. 

"Look  in  the  drawers,"  advised  his  father. 

The  little  boy  pulled  open  one  after  another 
the  shallow  drawers  in  the  stand  to  which  the 


278  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

press  was  fastened.  Some  were  filled  with 
leads  and  quoins  and  blocks.  Some  were  regular 
type-cases,  plenished  with  glittering  new  fonts 
all  distributed.  One  contained  a  small  com 
posing  stone,  a  cleaning  brush,  a  composing 
stick,  a  pair  of  narrow-pointed  pliers,  a  mallet 
and  planer.  Everything  was  complete. 

"Don't  you  think  Auntie  Kate  was  pretty 
good  to  a  little  boy  I  know?"  asked  Mrs.  Orde. 

"Did  Auntie  Kate  give  me  all  this?"  asked 
Bobby. 

"She    certainly    did,"    replied    his    mother. 

Now  the  family,  bearing  each  his  presents, 
moved  into  the  sitting  room  to  give  Mrs.  Fox 
and  Martin  a  chance  to  clean  up  the  debris. 
Bobby  arranged  his  things  on  the  sofa.  Sud 
denly  there  came  to  him  the  uneasy  feeling  of 
having  reached  the  end.  He  had  mounted 
above  the  first  joy  and  surprise  and  anticipation. 
It  was  all  comprehended;  nothing  more  was 
to  follow.  Novelty  had  evaporated,  like  the 
volatile  essence  it  is;  and  Bobby  had  not  as 
yet  entered  the  fuller  enjoyment  of  use.  He 
could  not  calm  to  the  point  of  domg  more  than 
glance  restlessly  through  the  books;  he  had  not 
recovered  sufficiently  from  his  morning  excite 
ment  to  settle  down  making  his  engine  go,  or 


CHRISTMAS  279 

to  trying  his  press,  or  to  playing  with  any  of 
his  new  toys.  There  descended  upon  him 
that  peculiar  and  temporary  sense  of  emptiness, 
which,  being  revealed  by  youngsters  and  mis 
understood  by  elders,  often  brings  down  on  its 
victim  the  unjust  accusation  of  ingratitude. 

Luckily  Bobby  was  not  long  left  to  his  own 
devices.  A  wild  whoop  from  outside  summoned 
him  to  the  window;  and  what  he  saw  there 
from  caused  him  to  jump  as  quickly  as  he  could 
into  his  out-door  garments. 

By  the  horse-block  stood  a  very  black  and 
very  chubby  pony.  It  wore  a  beautiful  brass- 
mounted  harness,  atop  its  head  perched  a 
wonderful  red  and  white  pompon,  to  it  was 
hitched  a  low,  one-seated  sleigh  on  the  Russian 
pattern,  with  high  grilled  dash,  and  two  impres 
sive  red  and  white  horse-hair  plumes.  In  this 
rig- in-miniature  sat  Johnny  English,  a  broad 
grin  on  his  face. 

"Look  what  I  got  for  Christmas!"  he  cried 
to  Bobby.  "  Jump  in  and  have  a  ride!" 

Bobby  jumped  in,  and  they  drove  away. 
The  pony  trotted  very  busily  with  more  appear 
ance  of  speed  than  actual  swiftness.  The  little 
sleigh,  being  low  to  the  ground,  emphasized 
this  illusion;  so  that  the  two  small  boys  had  all 


280  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

the  exhilaration  of  tearing  along  at  a  racing 
gait, 

"This  is  great!"  cried  Bobby.  "What  else 
did  you  get?" 

"Yes,  and  there's  a  two-wheeled  cart  for 
summer,"  said  Johnny;  "and  when  you  slide 
the  seat  forward  a  little  and  let  down  the  back, 
it  makes  another  seat.  I'll  show  you  when  we 
go  back." 

Shortly  they  decided  to  do  this.  Johnny 
attempted  to  turn  in  his  tracks,  as  he  had  seen 
cutters  do  on  the  Avenue.  But  here  the  snow 
was  not  packed  flat,  as  it  is  on  the  thoroughfare, 
so  that  when  the  twisting  was  applied  one 
runner  promptly  left  earth,  and  the  whole  sleigh 
canted  dangerously.  A  moment  later,  however, 
in  response  to  the  frantic  counterbalancing  of 
two  frightened  small  boys  and  the  sensible 
coming  to  a  halt  of  the  fuzzy  pony,  it  sank  back 
to  solidity. 

"Gee!"  breathed  Johnny,  wide-eyed,  "That 
was  a  close  squeak!" 

They  turned  more  cautiously,  and  in  a  wide 
circle,  and  jingled  away  toward  home.  It 
might  be  mentioned  that  the  bells  were 
not  strung  as  a  belt  to  encircle  the  pony, 
but  were  attached  below  to  the  underside  of 


CHRISTMAS  281 

the  thills  in  such  a  manner  as  to  contribute 
chimes. 

"What's  his  name?"  asked  Bobby,  referring 
to  the  pony. 

"  He  hasn't  any.     I  got  to  name  him." 

"I  knew  a  very  nice  horse  once.  His  name 
was  Bucephalus,"  remarked  Bobby  tentatively. 

"I  tell  you!"  cried  Johnny,  who  had  not  been 
listening.  "I'll  name  him  Bobby,  after  you!" 

"Oh!"  cried  that  young  man.  "Will  you?" 
He  gazed  at  the  pony  with  new  respect. 

"It'll  mix  things  up  a  little,  though,  won't 
it?"  reflected  Johnny.  "I  tell  you.  We'll 
call  him  Bobby  Junior.  How's  that?" 

"That's  fine!"    agreed  Bobby  gravely. 

In  the  dead  cold  air  of  the  Englishes'  barn, 
which  was  situated  in  an  alley-way,  the  block 
above  their  house,  Bobby  and  Johnny  examined 
the  cart,  admired  its  glossy  newness,  and,  under 
the  coachman's  instructions,  experimented  with 
the  sliding  seat.  They  took  a  peek  through 
the  folding  door  into  the  stable  where  stood  the 
haughty  horses.  These,  still  chewing,  slightly 
turned  their  heads  and  rolled  their  fine  eyes 
back  at  the  intruders,  then,  with  a  high-headed 
indifference,  returned  to  their  hay.  After  this 
the  boys  scuttled  into  the  small,  over- heated 


S82  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

" office"  with  its  smell  of  leather  and  tobacco 
and  harness  soap;  with  its  coloured  prints  of 
horses,  and  its  shining  harness  behind  the  glass 
doors;  with  its  cushioned  wooden  armchairs, 
its  sawdust  box  and  its  round  hot  stove  with 
the  soap-stones  heating  atop.  Here  they  toasted 
through  and  through;  then  clumped  stiffly 
down  to  the  Englishes'  house,  where  Johnny 
exhibited  his  other  presents.  They  were  varied, 
numerous  and  expensive.  Bobby's  Christmas 
was  as  dear  to  him  as  ever;  but  it  no  longer 
filled  the  sky.  Another  and  higher  mountain 
had  lifted  itself  beyond  his  ranges.  The  eager 
ness  to  exhibit  triumphantly  to  Johnny  which, 
up  to  this  moment,  he  had  with  difficulty 
restrained,  was  suddenly  dashed.  It  hardly 
seemed  worth  while. 

44  Come  over  and  see  my  things,"  he  suggested 
without  much  enthusiasm. 

"It's  dinner  time  now,  Bobby,"  objected 
Mrs.  English,  who  had  just  come  in.  "After 
dinner." 

44  All  right;  after  dinner,  then,"  agreed  Bobby. 
44  Bring  Caroline,"  he  added  as  an  after-thought. 

That  demure  damsel  had  also  her  array  of 
presents,  of  which  she  seemed  very  proud,  but 
which  did  not  interest  Bobby  in  the  slightest. 


CHRISTMAS  288 

They  seemed  to  be  silver-handled  scissors,  and 
pincushions,  and  embroidered  handkerchief- 
holders  and  similar  rubbish. 

But  when  Johnny -- without  Caroline  -ap 
peared  shortly  after  the  elaborate  Christmas 
dinner  the  production  of  which  constituted. 
Grandma  Orde's  chief  delight  in  the  day, 
Bobby's  enthusiasm  returned.  Johnny  went 
wild  over  the  printing  press.  Experience  with  the 
toy  press  had  given  him  a  basis  of  comparison. 

"My!"  he  ejaculated  at  last,  "I  believe  I'd 
rather  have  this  than  Bobby  Junior! 

"Now,"  continued  Johnny,  "we  can  get  all 
sorts  of  orders.  I'll  ask  papa  about  envelopes 
and  letter-heads  this  evening." 


XIX 

THE   BOXING   MATCH 

Early  after  breakfast  next  morning  appeared 
Johnny. 

"I  asked  Papa  about  envelopes.  He  says 
he  won't  give  us  an  order  until  he  sees  samples 
of  the  type  and  the  work,  but  he  says  if  we  can 
do  it  as  well  as  the  regular  printer,  he  doesn't 
mind  giving  us  an  order  for  a  thousand.  Here's 


one." 


The  boys  ascended  at  once  to  Bobby's  room. 
Investigation  of  the  fonts  showed  that  the  firm 
possessed  the  proper  type.  Bobby  set  up  the 
matter  in  the  composing  stick  —  and  promptly 
pied  it  when  he  attempted  to  move  it  to  the 
chase.  He  had  forgotten  to  put  a  lead  in  first, 
so  there  was  nothing  to  bind  the  top  line. 
Redistribution  and  rectification  of  the  error 
were  in  order.  It  took  a  good  half-hour  to  get 
the  type  properly  arranged  in  the  chase.  When 
single  letters  did  not  drop  through  from  the 
middle,  the  ends  of  the  lines  fell  away,  and  then, 

284 


THE  BOXING  MATCH  285 

try  as  they  would,  the  boys  were  unable  to  lock 
the  stickful  in  the  chase.  Either  it  would  not 
bind,  or  it  warped  out  or  in  so  that  even  without 
trial  it  could  be  seen  that  a  clear  impression 
was  manifestly  impossible.  These  and  other 
mechanical  difficulties  occupied  them  until  noon. 
Johnny  was  wild-eyed  and  nervous. 

''Why,  we  haven't  even  started  to  print!" 
he  cried,  "We'll  never  get  a  job  done  at  this 
rate!  I  don't  believe  the  old  press  is  any  good, 
anyhow!" 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  insisted  Bobby  doggedly.  "  We'll 
get  it  yet." 

He  hardly  finished  his  lunch,  so  eager  was  he 
to  be  back  at  the  problem.  Johnny  did  not 
come  until  after  two  o'clock,  and  then  stood  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  surveying  his  absorbed 
partner  with  some  disgust. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "is  the  old  thing  working 

yet?" 

Bobby  looked  up  absorbedly. 

"  She's  going  to  in  just  a  second  -  -  you  wait," 
he  muttered. 

A  moment  later  he  lifted  the  locked  form  in 
triumph.  It  held  together  and  it  was  flat. 
Immediately  Johnny's  nearly  extinct  enthusiasm 
flamed  up. 


286  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Stick  her  in!"  he  cried.  "Come  on,  we  can 
show  Papa  a  sample  to-night.  How  many  an 
hour  do  you  suppose  we  can  print  on  her, 
Bobby?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Bobby. 

They  inserted  the  form,  slipped  a  blank 
envelope  in  the  corner  and  were  ready  for  the 
first  trial. 

"It  won't  be  even  on  the  paper,"  said  Bobby, 
"but  we  can  fix  that  later." 

He  pulled  down  and  back  the  long  lever  and 
the  two  heads  bumped  together  over  the  result. 
One  side  of  the  legend  was  very  heavy  and 
black  and  clear,  but  the  other  was  almost  invisible. 

"Oh,  snakes!"  cried  Johnny  in  disappoint 
ment. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  reasoned  Bobby  out 
of  his  experience  with  the  toy  press.  "All  it 
needs  is  paper  underneath." 

But  paper  underneath  proved  inadequate. 
It  was  impossible  with  paper  to  establish  the 
nice  gradation  necessary  to  equalize  the  pressure. 
And  then,  also,  too  much  paper  made  too  deep 
an  impression. 

At  the  failure  of  this  tried  expedient  even 
Bobby's  patience  ran  short  for  the  time  being. 

"Come    on    over    to    my   house."    suggested 


THE  BOXING  MATCH  287 

Johnny  crossly.  "The  crowd's  coming.  I  got 
boxing  gloves  for  Christmas  too,  but  I  bet  they're 
no  good  either.  I  bet  they  rip  first  thing." 

Sore  at  heart  and  in  glum  silence  the  two 
marched  around  the  corner  to  the  Englishes'. 

Here  already  in  the  cold  third  story  were 
Grace  Jones  and  Martin  Drake,  skipping  about 
in  a  game  of  hop-scotch  to  keep  warm.  Shortly 
May  and  Carter  arrived  together  and  Caroline 
ascended  from  her  own  room  where  she  had  been 
sewing.  At  sight  of  the  boxing  gloves  May  and 
Morton  set  up  a  shout. 

"Nope,"  vetoed  Johnny,  "Bobby  and  I  are 
going  to  try  them  first!" 

The  youngsters  were  at  first  a  little  awkward 
with  the  unusual-sized  fists,  but  soon  forgot  a 
detail  as  trivial  as  that.  Neither  knew  the 
first  principles  of  hitting.  Round-arm  blows 
with  the  head  lowered  were  first  choice,  of 
which  a  good  ninety  per  cent,  went  wild.  The 
other  ten  naturally  had  little  force,  but  there  was 
a  great  deal  of  action.  In  this  game  Bobby 
stood  no  disadvantage  with  Johnny.  After 
the  first  few  seconds,  finding  himself,  to  his 
surprise,  still  unhurt,  he  sailed  in  with  some 
confidence.  Accidently  Johnny  ran  square 
against  his  extended  fist.  It  jarred  Johnny 


288  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

considerably,  and  made  that  youth  exceedingly 
eager  to  get  even.  Shortly  he  succeeded.  The 
pair  warmed  up.  Affairs  began  to  get  serious. 
In  a  brisk  though  wild  rally  they  clinched,  and 
in  a  moment  were  rolling  over  and  over  on  the 
floor,  pummelling  vigorously. 

But  immediately  Carter  jerked  them  apart. 

"Here,  that's  no  way  to  box.  Keep  your 
feet.  Here,  May,  give  us  a  little  help." 

They  pulled  the  contestants  to  their  feet. 
Johnny  and  Bobby  were  very  mussed  up  and 
dusty.  Johnny's  nose  was  bleeding  slightly; 
Bobby's  eye  was  a  trifle  swelled.  The  instant 
their  captors  released  them,  they  went  at  it 
again,  hammer  and  tongs.  They  were  certainly 
not  angry  as  enemies  are  angry,  but  as  certainly 
for  the  time  being,  in  the  sense  that  each  was 
grimly  resolved  on  victory,  they  had  ceased  to 
be  friends. 

How  long  the  combat  might  have  lasted  it 
would  be  impossible  to  say.  Bobby  had  never 
before  used  his  fists,  while  the  aggressive  Johnny, 
at  public  school,  was  the  hero  of  many  fights. 
But  as  long  as  Carter  insisted  on  no  rough-and- 
tumble  this  fact  gave  the  elder  boy  little  advan 
tage.  The  damage  that  two  light-weights  can 
inflict  on  each  other  with  round-arm  blows  is 


THE  BOXING  MATCH  289 

inconsiderable,  and  Bobby  was  of  the  sort  that 
punishment  merely  renders  obstinate.  Probably 
sheer  lack  of  breath  would  in  time  have  called 
the  battle  a  draw,  but  all  at  once  Bobby  had  an 
idea.  So  illuminating  and  sudden  was  it  that 
for  an  instant  he  forgot  what  he  was  doing. 
Johnny  closed  on  him  like  a  tiger  beating  him 
with  both  fists  as  hard  as  he  could  hit.  Even 
then  Bobby's  thought  was  not  of  defence  but  of 
explanation. 

"Hold  on!  hold  on!  quit!"  he  kept  on  crying 
in  expostulation.  "Wait  a  minute!  I  got  it!" 

It  is  doubtful  if  Johnny  heard  him.  Before 
Carter  and  May  could  stop  him  he  had  inflicted 
more  damage  than  the  rest  of  the  fight  had 
produced.  Bobby's  nose  too  was  bleeding, 
and  a  huge  red  bump  was  swelling  on  his  fore 
head  when  finally  he  was  freed. 

However,  he  was  not  even  aware  of  those 
trifles. 

"  Don't  you  know  those  two  screws  -  he 
began  eagerly  to  Johnny. 

But  that  young  gentleman,  panting,  was  not 
yet  emerged  from  the  red  haze  of  combat. 

"I  licked!"  he  cried.  "Didn't  I  lick?  He 
quit!  He  hollered  'miff,  didn't  he?  I  licked 
the  stuffing  out  of  him!" 


290  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"O  shut  up!"  said  May  contemptuously; 
"or  I'll  lick  the  stuffing  out  of  you." 

Bobby,  practically  oblivious  to  the  meaning 
of  this  exchange,  had  stripped  off  his  gloves 
and  had  advanced,  eager  to  finish  his  explana 
tion. 

"Johnny,  I  just  thought!"  said  he.  "You 
remember  those  two  thumb  screws  under  the 
platen  ?  I  bet  you  if  you  turn  those,  they'll 
regulate  the  pressure.  Let's  go  over  and  try  it ! " 

Johnny  looked  at  Bobby  uncertainly.  He 
drew  a  deep  breath,  then  his  round,  cheerful 
grin  broke  over  his  face." 

"I  guess  I  didn't  lick  you  after  all,  old  socks," 
said  he.  "I  don't  know  what  you're  talking 
about.  Go  on  try  your  old  press.  I'm  sick 
of  her." 

Bobby  washed  his  bruised  face  and  went  home. 
Sure  enough,  the  thumb  screws  did  regulate  the 
pressure.  Within  a  half -hour  he  was  back  at  the 
Englishes'.  The  boxing  gloves  were  still  in 
commission.  Morton  was  dancing  around  and 
around  May,  slapping  her  with  his  open  glove 
first  on  one  side  the  face,  then  on  the  other. 
The  girl,  in  spite  of  her  strength,  agility  and 
superior  age  was  as  awkward  as  are  most  girls 
at  hitting  with  their  fists.  She  made  short  angry 


THE  BOXING  MATCH  291 

rushes  at  the  dodging  Morton  who  slipped 
easily  in  and  out  of  her  guard.  He  was  getting 
even  for  a  long  tyranny.  Finally  May  stopped 
short  and  stamped  her  foot  with  vexation.  Her 
face  was  very  red  and  she  actually  had  tears  in 
her  eyes. 

"Oh!"  she  cried.  "You  wait  'till  I  get  hold 
of  you,  you  miserable  little  thing!" 

At  that  the  boxing  ended.  Bobby  drew 
Johnny  one  side.  "Look  there!"  said  he  with 
pardonable  pride.  "Show  that  to  your  papa. 
I  bet  he  can't  tell  it  from  the  regular  printers. 
Look  out;  it's  wet  yet." 

Johnny  gazed  with  awe  on  the  perfect  pro 
duction.  The  next  instant  all  his  dead  enthusi 
asm  leaped  to  life. 

"I  bet  we  can  print  the  whole  thousand  in 
one  morning!"  he  cried  gleefully,  "And  then 
there's  the  letter-heads,  and  bill-heads  and  May's 
cards  —  and  perhaps  your  father  and  Carter's 
will  give  us  jobs  —  and 

They  clattered  down  the  stairs  to  the  tune 
of  Johnny's  business  expansions. 


XX 

THE    PARTNERS 

The  thousand  envelopes  were  printed  and 
delivered.  Mr.  English  expressed  himself  as 
entirely  satisfied,  and  allowed  the  new  firm  to 
experiment  on  bill  heads.  Mr.  Orde  promised 
an  order  of  more  envelopes  when  these  were 
finished. 

Johnny's  commercial  instincts  were  thoroughly 
aroused.  He  saw  visions  of  wealth  beyond  the 
dreams  of  wood-box-filling  or  street-sprinkling 
with  the  garden  hose  in  summer.  In  that 
community  even  Johnny  English  had  to  earn 
his  own  pocket  money.  Bobby,  too,  entered 
into  the  game  with  enthusiasm  —  for  over  a 
week.  Then  he  grew  tired  of  the  mechanical 
repetition  of  that  which  he  had  acquired  so 
painfully.  It  no  longer  interested  him  to  set 
the  type,  to  lock  the  form,  to  ink  and  clean  the 
ink  plates.  He  had  carried  these  things  to  their 
last  refinement  of  skill.  As  for  the  actual 
printing  —  the  endless  insetting  of  paper,  pulling 

292 


THE  PARTNERS  293 

down  on  the  lever,  removing  the  paper  —  this 
he  could  no  longer  stand  for  more  than  half  an 
hour  at  a  time.  Then  a  deep  lethargy  seized 
his  every  faculty.  His  mind  sank  to  stupor. 
Time  no  longer  possessed  dimensions,  but  blew 
into  a  vast  Present  which  was  never  going  to 
cease.  If  he  kept  at  it  a  half-hour  after  this 
condition  manifested  itself  he  emerged  from 
the  ordeal  as  tired  and  sleepy  as  though  he  had 
undergone  hard  physical  labour.  It  was  more 
than  mere  boredom;  it  was  a  revolt  of  the  soul. 

At  first  his  loyalty  to  the  firm  and  his  sense 
of  duty  drove  him  on.  Then  gradually  he 
relinquished  the  printing  to  Johnny.  That 
young  man  could  cheerfully  have  stuck  to  the 
press  twelve  hours  a  day,  if  he  had  been  per 
mitted.  Each  printed  bit  of  paper  laid  aside 
on  the  growing  pile  to  his  left  represented  just 
that  much  more  pocket  money. 

So,  strangely  enough,  the  relative  position 
of  the  two  boys  toward  the  work  in  hand  was 
reversed.  At  first,  when  the  mechanical  diffi 
culties  seemed  insurmountable,  Bobby's  per 
severance  had  been  inexhaustible,  while  Johnny 
was  a  dozen  times  inclined  to  let  the  whole 
problem  go  smash.  Now,  when  the  task  of 
feeding  into  the  press  the  thousand  necessary 


294  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

to  fill  orders  seemed  endless,  Johnny's  patience 
rose  more  than  adequate  to  the  occasion,  while 
Bobby's  spirit  shrank  at  the  mere  size  of  it. 

Finally  matters  adjusted  themselves  so  that 
Bobby  saw  to  the  alignment,  the  perfection  of 
the  impression,  all  the  rest  of  getting  ready; 
then  Johnny  took  hold. 

But  one  day  Bobby,  walking  glumly  over  to 
the  composing  stone,  suggested  something  new. 

"  Let's  start  a  newspaper."  said  he. 

The  clang  of  the  press  came  to  an  abrupt  stop , 

"Let's  start  a  newspaper,"  he  repeated. 
'*  We're  got  enough  pica  to  print  one  page  at  a 
time." 

Rashly  Johnny  agreed.  All  went  well  until 
it  came  time  to  print  the  sheet.  Eighteen 
subscribers  were  secured  at  five  cents  a  copy. 
Johnny  and  Bobby  wrote  the  entire  number 
between  them.  Bobby  set  it  up,  happily. 
Johnny,  also  happily,  turned  out  certain  letter 
heads  at  the  press.  Then  came  time  to  print. 
And  at  that  moment  trouble  began. 

The  first  copy  was  legible  but  smudgy. 
Bobby  was  not  satisfied  and  attempted  improve 
ment,  most  of  which,  so  far  from  improving, 
gave  cause  for  fresh  defects.  Johnny  was 
standing  about  impatiently. 


THE   PARTNERS  295 

"Come  on,"  said  he  at  last,  "that's  good 
enough.  They  can  read  it,  all  right,  and  those 
few  letters  don't  matter.  Let  it  go  at  that." 

But  Bobby  shook  his  head  and  carried  the 
form  back  to  the  composing  stone. 

Four  days  he  worked  over  the  first  page  of 
the  Weekly  Eagle.  Johnny  expostulated, 
stormed,  pleaded  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"Let's  let  the  whole  thing  slide,"  he  begged. 
"All  we  get  out  of  it  anyway  is  less'n  a  dollar 
and  think  of  all  the  time  we're  wasting.  That 
job  for  Mr.  Fowler  isn't  all  done,  and  Smith's 
Meat  Market  is  going  to  order  some  bill-heads." 

But  Bobby  was  obstinate.  Finally  Johnny, 
in  disgust,  left  him  to  his  own  devices. 

The  world  for  Bobby  contained  but  one  thing. 
His  recollections  of  that  time  are  of  a  flaring 
gas  jet  and  the  smell  of  printer's  ink.  He  won 
finally  and  duly  delivered  the  eighteen  copies  - 
letter-perfect.  Probably  five  hundred  other  and 
imperfect  examples  of  the  Weekly  Eagle  found 
their  way  into  the  furnace. 

Johnny  plucked  up  heart  and  returned,  only 
to  find  that  the  printing  press  question  was 
dead  as  far  as  Bobby  was  concerned. 

"I'm  sick  of  printing."  was  all  Bobby  would 
say,  and  no  argument  as  to  unexploited  wealth 


296  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

could  move  him.  The  subject  had  not  only 
lost  interest,  but  mere  casual  thought  of  its 
details  brought  on  a  faint  repetition  of  the 
mental  lethargy.  The  sight  of  the  press  and 
its  varied  appurtenances  threw  his  mind  into 
the  defensive  blank  coma  which  rendered  him 
incapable  of  the  simplest  intellectual  effort. 
This  was  something  as  outside  Bobby's  control 
as  the  beating  of  his  heart.  He  did  not  under 
stand  it,  nor  attempt  to  analyze  it. 

"I'm  sick  of  it,"  said  he;  just  as  after  the 
labour  of  building  a  fort  in  Monrovia,  he  had 
with  the  same  remark  deserted  his  companions 
on  the  threshold  of  its  enjoyment. 

Bobby  thought  he  exercised  a  choice  when 
he  turned  from  printing,  just  as  he  chose  whether 
to  walk  on  the  right  or  on  the  left  side  of  the 
street.  In  reality  it  would  have  been  impossible 
for  him  to  re-enter  his  interest,  his  enthusiasm; 
impossible  even  for  him  to  have  accomplished 
the  mechanical  labour  of  the  trade  save  at  an 
utterly  disproportionate  expense  of  nervous 
energy. 

Bobby  did  not  know  this;  of  course,  Johnny 
was  not  capable  of  such  analysis.  The  only 
human  being  who  might  have  understood  and 
worked  in  correction  of  the  tendency,  read  the 


THE  PARTNERS  297 

affair  amiss.  Mrs.  Orde  was  only  too  glad  to 
get  Bobby  into  the  open  air  again,  and  saw  in 
his  abandonment  of  this  feverish  enthusiasm 
only  cause  for  rejoicing. 

So  Bobby  threw  his  friend  into  despair  by 
declining  to  go  on  with  a  flourishing  business. 
"Bime  by,"  said  he.  "I'm  sick  of  it,  now." 
As  a  matter  of  fact  he  never  touched  the  printing 
press  again.  His  parents  deplored  the  useless 
waste  of  a  large  amount  of  money  and  drew 
the  usual  conclusion  that  it  is  foolish  to  buy 
children  expensive  things.  No  doubt  from  that 
standpoint  the  affair  was  deplorable;  yet  there 
is  this  to  be  noted,  that  Bobby's  enthusiasm 
blew  out  only  after  he  had  thought  all  around 
the  subject,  back  front,  bottom  and  sides.  He 
knew  that  printing  press  theoretically  and 
practically  and  all  it  could  do.  As  long  as  it 
withheld  the  smallest  secret  Bobby  clung  to 
it,  his  soul  at  white  heat.  But  the  repetition 
and  again  the  repetition  of  what  he  had  learned 
thoroughly  struck  cold  his  every  higher  faculty. 
He  shrugged  it  all  from  him,  and  turned  with 
unabated  freshness  his  inquiring  child's  eyes 
to  what  new  the  world  had  to  offer  him. 


XXI 

WINTER 

After  the  collapse  of  the  printing  business  Bobby 
and  Johnny  turned  to  Bobby  Junior  and  the 
little  sleigh.  They  drove  often,  far  into  the 
country.  It  was  the  dead  of  winter.  The 
country  was  wide  and  still  and  white.  Against 
the  prevailing  note  of  the  snow  the  patches  of 
woods  showed  almost  black.  The  landscape 
looked  strangely  flattened  out,  and  bereft  of 
life.  Nevertheless  that  impression  was  false, 
for  the  little  sleigh  climbed  and  dipped  over 
many  hills  and  hollows;  and  the  boys  were 
continually  seeing  living  things  and  their  indi 
cations.  Tracks  of  small  animals  embroidered 
the  snow.  Strange  tame  birds  hopped  here 
and  there  or  rose  and  swept  down  wind  with 
plaintive  pipings  that,  in  spite  of  their  lack  of 
fear,  lent  them  a  spirit  of  wildness  akin  to  the 
aloof  savaging  of  winter  winds  in  bared  trees. 
Bobby  and  Johnny  recognized  the  snow  bunt 
ings,  tossing  in  compact  big  companies  like 

298 


WINTER  £99 

flakes  in  a  whirlwind,  the  unsoiled  white  effect 
of  their  plumage  shaming  the  snow.  Besides 
these  were  little  red-polls,  dressed  warmly  in 
magenta  and  brown  for  the  winter,  hopping 
and  clinging  among  the  seed-weeds  exposed  by 
the  breezes;  and  hardy,  impudent,  harsh- 
voiced  blue-jays,  cloaking  much  villany  and 
cunning  under  wondrous  suits  of  clothes;  and 
trim,  neat  cedar  wax- wings,  perching  on  elevated 
twigs,  always  apparently  at  leisure;  in  the 
woods,  whole  bands  of  chickadees  and  nut 
hatches,  cruising  it  cheerfully,  calling  to  each 
other  in  their  varied  notes,  tiny  atoms  defying 
all  the  cold  and  famine  Old  Winter  could  bring. 
Once  they  were  vastly  excited  to  catch  sight 
of  a  hoary,  wide-winged  monster  sweeping  like 
a  ghost  close  to  the  snow.  They  surmised  it 
might  be  a  Great  Snow  Owl,  like  the  stuffed 
one  in  the  English  library,  but  they  never  knew. 
And  again,  in  some  trees  alongside  the  road, 
they  came  upon  a  large  flock  of  stocky-built 
birds,  a  little  smaller  than  robins,  so  tame  that 
the  boys  drove  beneath  them  and  could  see  their 
thick  bills,  and  the  marvellous  clarity  of  the 
sunset  yellow  of  their  heads,  shading  to  twilight 
down  their  backs,  to  black  night  on  their  wings 
barred  by  a  strip  of  clear  white  moonlight. 


300  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

They  agreed  that  these  were  most  unusual- 
looking  creatures.  How  unusual  any  naturalist 
would  have  been  glad  to  tell  them;  for  these 
were  that  great  and  prized  rarity,  the  Evening 
Grosbeak.  So,  too,  in  the  pine  woods  they 
were  showered  by  bits  of  cones,  and  looked 
aloft  to  make  out  a  distant  little  bird  busily 
engaged  in  tearing  the  cones  to  pieces,  They 
laughed  at  his  industry,  but  would  have  been 
immensely  interested  could  they  have  examined 
at  close  hand  the  Crossbill's  beak  and  its 
singular  adaption  to  just  this  task.  And  of 
course  they  remarked  the  stately  deliberate- 
looking  prints  of  the  grouse;  and  the  herded 
tramping  of  the  quail.  The  winter  was  popu 
lous  enough,  in  spite  of  its  rigour.  Some  of 
its  many  creatures  the  boys  knew;  many  more 
they  did  not;  but  you  may  be  sure  they  saw 
all  that  did  not  exercise  the  closest  circum 
spection. 

For  miles  about,  the  little  sleigh  explored  the 
country:  main-road,  worn  smooth  by  countless 
farmer-sleighs;  by-roads,  through  which  the 
pony  had  to  wallow  belly-deep,  making  a  new 
track.  Not  the  mere  pleasure  of  driving  lured 
them  out  —  that  amounted  to  little  after  the 
week  of  novelty  —  but  something  of  the  spirit 


WINTER  301 

of  exploration  was  in  it.  Duke  always  accom 
panied  them,  plunging  powerfully  through 
the  deepest  drifts,  exulting  in  the  snow, 
rolling  in  it,  frisking  in  it  in  all  directions, 
racing  down  the  road  and  back,  glad  to  be 
alive  and  warm  this  freezing  weather.  One 
day  in  a  patch  of  woods  he  came  to  an 
abrupt  halt.  The  boys,  watching,  saw  his  eye 
fixed,  his  upper  lip  snarl  back  the  least  in 
the  world,  his  tail  stiffen  except  at  its  quivering 
tip,  his  whole  body  lengthen  and  half-crouch 
and  turn  rigid.  And  as  the  sleigh  wallowed 
near  him,  suddenly,  with  an  immense  scatter 
ing  of  snow  and  a  startling  roar,  an  old 
cock-partridge  burst  from  beneath  the  surface 
of  the  snow  and  hurtled  away  through  the 
frozen  trees. 

Some  days  when  the  wind  blew  keen  and 
sharp  as  knives  across  the  broad  reaches,  it 
was  almost  impossible  for  the  boys  to  keep  warm. 
The  heated  soap-stone  wrapped  up  at  their 
feet,  the  warm  buffalo  robes  under  and  over 
them,  their  thick  overcoats  and  fur  caps  alike 
proved  inadequate.  Then  one  took  his  turn 
at  driving,  while  the  other  crouched  entirely 
covered  beneath  the  robes.  The  wind  drove 
the  hard,  sparse  flakes  from  the  low  leaden 


302  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

sky  like  so  many  needles  against  the  driver's 
face,   filling   his   eyes   with   tears,    causing   his 
skin  to  glow  and  smart.     Even  in  this  was  a 
certain  joy  and  adventure.     But  again  the  sun 
would  shine,  the  bells  jingle  louder  in  the  clari 
fied    air.     Probably,    however,    the    boys    liked 
best  of  all  the  warm,  still  snowstorms,  when  all 
the  world  was  muffled  in  the  shoes  of  silence; 
when  nature  held  her  finger  on   hushed  lips; 
when    deliberately,    without    haste    the    great 
white  flakes  zigzagged  down  from  the  soft  gray 
above,  obscuring  and  softening  the  landscape, 
rendering  dear  and  mysterious  the  commonest 
things.     Then  sounds  came,  subdued  as  in  a 
sanctuary,  and  people  approaching;  showed  por 
tentous  as  through  a  mist,  and  the  boys,  looking 
upward,  caught  big  wet  flakes  on  their  lashes 
as  they  tried  in  vain  to  determine  the  point  at 
which   the   snowflakes   became   visible.     There 
existed  no  such  point.     The  snowflakes  did  not 
approach  as  other  things  approach,  beginning 
small  with  distance,  and  becoming    larger    as 
they    neared.     They    flashed    into    sight    full- 
grown.     It    was    as    though    they    had    fallen 
wrapped  in  invisibility  until  the  great  Magician 
had    uttered    the    word.     That    was    Bobby's 
secret  thought,  which  he  told  nobody.     Often 


WINTER  303 

he  imagined  he  could  hear  the  word  repeated 
all  about  him,  presto!  presto!  presto!  presto!  like 
the  distant  hushed  falling  of  waters.  And  as 
the  charm  was  said,  he,  looking  skyward,  could 
see  the  big  soft  flakes  flash  into  view  out  of 
nothing. 


XXII 

THE    MURDER 

So  successful  did  the  friendship  between  the 
two  boys  turn  out  to  be  that  next  autumn 
Johnny  English  was  invited  to  visit  the  Ordes 
at  Monrovia.  He  accepted  very  promptly,  and, 
as  the  distance  was  short,  brought  with  him  the 
cart  and  pony.  The  country  around  Monrovia 
was  very  interesting  to  them.  Riverland,  marsh 
land,  swampland,  shore  and  meadow,  all  offered 
themselves  in  the  most  diversified  forms.  The 
sandy  roads  wound  over  the  hills,  down  the 
ravines,  along  the  corduroys  and  float-bridges. 
Life  was  varied.  The  boys,  armed  with  their 
Flobert  rifle,  wandered  far  afield. 

They  did  not  get  very  much,  it  is  true,  but 
they  popped  away  steadily,  and  did  a  grand 
amount  of  sneaking  and  looking.  And  they 
managed  first  and  last  to  see  a  great  deal. 
In  the  snipe  marshes  they  knew  when  the  first 
flight  dropped  hi  —  and  murdered  a  kill  deer 
as  he  stood.  Out  in  the  sloughs  they  marked 

304 


THE  MURDER  305 

the  earnest  red-heads  from  the  north  —  and 
accomplished  two  mud-hens,  a  ruddy  duck,  and 
a  dozen  blackbirds.  In  the  uplands  they  knew 
almost  to  a  feather  how  many  partridge  each 
thicket  had  bred;  to  a  covey  where  the  quail 
used;  and  once  in  a  great  while,  by  strategy  on 
their  own  side  and  foolishness  on  the  part  of 
the  quarry,  they  caught  one  sitting  and  brought 
it  down.  What  is  quite  as  much  to  the  point, 
they  felt  the  season  as  it  changed.  The  gradual 
transformation  from  the  green  of  summer  to 
the  brown  and  lilac  of  late  autumn,  the  low 
swinging  of  the  sun,  the  mellowing  of  the 
days,  the  broad-hung  curtain  of  sweet  smoke- 
breeze,  the  hushing  of  the  vital  forces  of  the 
world  in  anticipation  of  winter  —  all  these 
passed  near  them  and,  passing,  touched  their 
eyes.  They  were  too  busy  to  notice  such  things 
consciously,  however.  The  influence  sank 
deep  and  became  part  of  the  permanent  back 
ground  against  which  their  lives  were  to  be 
thrown. 

At  first  some  doubt  was  expressed  as  to  the 
wisdom  of  that  Flobert  rifle.  To  turn  two 
small  boys  loose  with  a  deadly  weapon  seemed 
to  Mrs.  Orde  a  rather  strong  temptation  of 
Providence.  Mr.  Kincaid  spoke  for  them.  In 


306  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

the  end  it  was  decided,  though  with  many 
misgivings  and  more  admonitions. 

"Keep  the  muzzle  pointed  up;  never  get 
excited;  never  shoot  at  anything  unless  you 
know  what  it  is,"  was  Mr.  Kincaid's  summing 
up. 

These  three  precepts  were  so  constantly 
impressed  that  to  the  boys  their  practice  ended 
by  becoming  second  nature. 

"It's  not  only  dangerous  to  do  these  things," 
said  Mr.  Kincaid,  "  but  it's  a  sure  sign  of  a  green 
horn.  A  man  ought  to  be  deadly  ashamed  to 
confess  himself  such  an  all-round  dub." 

Toward  the  end  of  the  fall,  and  nearing 
Thanksgiving,  the  boys  drove  Bobby  Junior 
out  the  old  east  road.  After  a  time  they  turned 
off  into  a  by-way  deep  with  sand.  It  ended. 
They  hitched  the  placid  Bobby  Junior  to  the 
top  rail  of  a  "snake-fence"  climbed  it,  and 
headed  toward  a  scrub-oak  and  popple  thicket 
thrown  like  a  blanket  over  the  long  slope  of  a 
hill.  They  walked  cautiously,  for  by  experience 
they  had  learned  that  at  the  very  edge,  and  in 
the  lea  of  an  old  burned  log,  it  was  possible 
a  fine  big  cock-partridge  might  be  sunning 
himself.  The  popples,  shining  silvery,  were 
almost  bare  of  leaves,  but  the  scrub  oaks  clung 


THE   MURDER  307 

tenaciously  to  a  crackling  umber-brown  foliage. 
It  was  now  near  the  close  of  the  afternoon.  The 
game  bag  was  empty.  Both  boys  trod  on  eggs, 
scrutinizing  every  inch  of  the  ground  before 
them. 

"It's  too  late  for  'em,  whispered  Bobby  in 
discouragement.  "There's  not  enough  sun. 
They've  gone  in  to  feed." 

But  Johnnie  seized  his  arm. 

"There,"  he  breathed,  "See  him!  He's 
sitting  in  that  little  scrub  oak  —  just  to  the  left 
of  the  stub." 

Bobby  peered  along  his  friend's  arm.  After 
a  moment  he  made  out  a  mottled  spot  of  brown. 

"I  see  him,"  said  he,  cocking  his  rifle.  "It's 
his  breast.  I  wish  I  could  get  at  his  head." 

"He'll  be  gone  in  a  minute!"  warned  Johnny. 

It  was  Bobby's  turn  to  shoot.  He  raised  his 
weapon,  aimed  carefully,  and  pressed  the  trigger. 

Immediately  the  thicket  broke  into  a  tremend 
ous  commotion.  A  scurrying  of  leaves,  a  brief 
exclamation  of  pain,  a  brown  cap  whirling 
through  the  air  —  and  both  boys  turned  and 
ran,  ran  as  hard  as  they  could  up  the  hill  until 
sheer  lack  of  breath  brought  them  to  the  ground. 
They  stared  at  each  other  with  frightened  eyes 
from  faces  chalky  white. 


308  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"We've  killed  somebody!"  gasped  Johnny. 

They  clung  to  each  other  trembling  with  the 
horror  of  it,  utterly  unable  to  gather  their  facul 
ties.  This  was  just  what  so  often  both  had 
been  cautioned  against  —  the  shooting  without 
seeing  clearly  the  object  of  aim.  To  the  shock 
of  a  catastrophe  they  had  to  add  the  sinking 
remorse  over  warnings  disobeyed. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  ?  "  chattered  Johnny 
at  last. 

'  We  got  to  go  down  and  see " 

"I  daresn't"  confessed  Johnny  miserably. 

"Do  you  suppose  he's  dead?" 

"They'll  probably  put  us  in  jail." 

"Come  on,"  said  Bobby  at  last. 

They  arose,  very  giddy  and  uncertain  on  their 
feet.  For  the  first  time  they  forced  themselves 
to  look  at  the  copse  lying  below  them. 

"Oh!"  breathed  Johnny,  "Look!" 

Below  them  on  the  farther  edge  of  the  copse, 
and  over  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  they  saw 
Mr.  Kincaid.  He  was  bareheaded.  Curly  was 
with  him.  The  man  was  trying  to  send  the 
water  spaniel  into  the  copse.  Curly  pretended 
that  he  wanted  to  play,  and  did  not  in  the  least 
understand  what  it  was  all  about.  He  capered 
joyously  around  Mr.  Kincaid's  outstretched 


THE  MURDER  309 

arm;  he  pressed  his  chest  to  the  earth  and 
uttered  short  barks;  he  chased  madly  around  in 
circles,  but  he  did  not  enter  the  copse,  which  was 
plainly  his  master's  desire.  Finally  Mr.  Kin- 
caid  gave  it  up  and  departed  over  the  brow  of 
the  next  hill. 

And  while  this  little  by-play  was  going  on 
two  small  boys  above  him  felt  the  warmth  of 
life  flowing  back  into  their  frozen  souls.  The 
blood  returned  to  their  lips,  their  thumping 
hearts  calmed,  all  the  blessed  joy  and  sunshine 
and  freedom  of  the  world  flooded  in  a  return 
tide  of  blessed  relief. 

"Gee,"  said  Johnny,  "I'm  never  going  hunt 
ing  again!  Never  any  more!  Never!" 

"You  bet  I'm  going  to  be  careful  after  this," 
said  Bobby.  "My,  but  I'm  glad!" 

"I  wonder  why  he  didn't  pick  up  his  cap?" 
wondered  Johnny. 

"Perhaps  he  had  it  in  his  hand." 

The  boys  drove  home  ringing  the  changes 
on  a  thousand  new  resolutions  of  caution. 

"It's  a  good  lesson  to  us,"  said  Bobby  by 
way  of  reminiscent  philosophy  often  heard 
before. 

They  put  Bobby  Junior  into  the  barn,  cleaned 
the  Flobert,  changed  their  hunting  clothes,  and 


310  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

answered  with  alacrity  the  summons  to  the 
dining  room.  After  they  were  well  started  with 
the  meal,  Mr.  Orde  came  in  and  sat  down. 
He  nodded  abstractedly,  and  had  little  to  say. 
The  boys  were  too  far  down  in  remorse  to  care 
to  bring  up  any  of  the  subjects  near  their  hearts. 
Finally  Mrs.  Orde  remarked  this  general  depres 
sion. 

"I  must  say  you're  a  cheerful  lot  of 
men  folks,"  said  she.  "  What  is  it  ?  Business  ?  " 
She  smiled  at  the  boys  in  raillery  at  the  idea. 
But  she  could  not  cheer  them  up.  As  soon  as 
the  meal  was  over  Mr.  Orde  dismissed  the  boys. 

"Run  along  now,"  said  he  briefly;  "I  want 
to  talk." 

They  climbed  the  stairs  to  Bobby's  room, 
and  sat  down  glumly  on  the  floor.  Reaction 
was  strong,  and  they  had  both  fallen  into  aimless 
doldrums  of  spirit.  Suddenly  Bobby  sat  up 
straight  at  attention. 

The  Orde  house  was  provided  with  old-fash 
ioned  hot-air  registers.  When  the  registers 
happened  all  to  be  open,  they  constituted  most 
excellent  speaking-tubes.  Thus,  without  inten 
tion  of  deliberate  eavesdropping,  Bobby  and 
his  friend  became  aware  of  the  following  con 
versation. 


THE  MURDER  311 

"  What's  the  matter,  Jack  ?  Anything  wrong 
at  the  office  or  on  the  River?" 

Mr.  Orde  sighed  deeply. 

"  Oh,  no.  Everything's  snug  as  a  bug  in  a  rug, 
sweetheart,"  said  he.  "But  I'm  bothered  a  lot. 
A  dreadful  thing  happened  to-day.  You  know 
that  popple  thicket  out  at  Pritchard's  place?" 

Both  boys  froze  into  horrified  attention. 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  just  before  dusk  Pritchard  was  found 
dead  near  the  east  end  of  it." 

"Why,  how  did  that  happen?"  cried  Mrs. 
Qrde. 

The  boys  stole  a  look  at  each  other. 

"He  had  been  murdered." 

"Murdered!"  cried  Mrs.  Orde  sharply. 

"Oh!"  moaned  Bobby  in  a  smothered  voice. 

"Yes.  He  was  found  with  a  knife  wound  in 
his  throat." 

"How  terrible!"  said  Mrs.  Orde. 

"But  that  isn't  what  worries  me.  Pritchard 
is  no  irreparable  loss." 

"Jack!"  cried  Mrs.  Orde. 

"He  isn't,"  insisted  Orde  stoutly.  "But 
Kincaid  was  seen  by  several  competent  witnesses 
coming  out  from  that  thicket,  and  as  far  as 
anybody  has  been  able  to  find  out  he  is  the  only 


312  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

human  being  who  was  out  there  to-day.  They 
have  him  under  arrest." 

"I  never  heard  of  anything  so  ridiculous!" 
cried  Mrs.  Orde  indignantly. 

"There  has  been  bad  blood  between  them," 
said  Orde;  "and  everybody  knows  it.  That's 
the  trouble.  Pritchard,  as  usual,  has  off  and  on 
done  an  awful  lot  of  talking." 

"You  don't  for  a  moment  believe " 

"  Certainly  not.  Arthur  Kincaid  never  would 
harm  a  fly  in  anger.  And  I  rely  absolutely  on 
his  word." 

'You've  seen  him?" 

"  Of  course.  He  acknowledges  he  was  out  at 
Pritchard's,  but  denies  all  knowledge  of  the  affair. 
That's  the  trouble.  He  offers  no  explanation 
of  the  facts,  and  the  facts  are  —  queer." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Well,  this;  the  men  who  saw  Kincaid  coming 
out  of  the  thicket  say  he  was  bareheaded.  When 
Pritchard's  body  was  found,  Kincaid's  cap  was 
discovered  about  fifty  feet  distant." 

"  What  does  he  say  to  that  ?" 

"His  story  is  so  ridiculous  that  I  wouldn't 
blame  anybody  who  did  not  know  Kincaid  for 
not  believing  it.  He  says  he  was  playing  with 
his  dog  Curly,  when  Curly  grabbed  the  cap 


THE  MURDER  313 

and  made  off  with  it.  The  dog  came  back 
without  the  cap,  and  Kincaid  could  not  find  it. 
That's  all  he  says,  except  that  he  was  not  in  the 
thicket  at  all,  and  certainly  not  within  a  quarter- 
mile  of  the  scene  of  the  murder." 

"That  might  be  so." 

"Of  course  it's  so,  if  Arthur  Kincaid  says  it 
is,"  insisted  Orde,  "but  what  do  you  think  of 
this?  The  cap  had  a  22-calibre  bullet  hole 
through  the  crown;  and  Pritchard  was  armed 
with  a  22-calibre  rifle." 

"  What  does  Mr.  Kincaid  say  to  it  ?" 

"That's  just  the  trouble,"  cried  Orde  in 
despairing  tones.  "If  he'd  plead  self-defence 
any  jury  in  Michigan  would  acquit  him  without 
leaving  the  box.  But  when  we  asked  him 
how  that  bullet  hole  got  in  that  cap,  he  simply 
says  that  he  doesn't  know;  it  wasn't  there  when 
he  lost  the  cap!  Could  anything  be  more 
absurd!" 

Bobby  reached  out  and  softly  closed  the 
register. 

He  turned  to  grip  Johnny  fiercely  by  the  arm. 
His  eyes  blazed. 

"Mr.  Kincaid  is  my  friend,"  he  hissed. 
"Understand  that?  He's  my  best  friend.  If 
you  ever  say  anything  about  this  afternoon  — — " 


314  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"Let  go!J>  cried  Johnny  struggling.  "You 
hurt !  You  needn't  get  mad  about  it.  He's  my 
friend,  too.  I  ain't  going  to  say  anything." 
Bobby  released  his  arm.  "He  must  have  done 
it,  though,"  concluded  Johnny. 

"Of  course  he  did  it.  I'd  have  done  it. 
Pritchard  was  an  old  beast.  You  ought  to  have 
been  along  with  me  when  he  ordered  us  off  his 
land." 

"Mr.  Kincaid  says  he  was  never  up  at  that 
end." 

"There's  his  cap,  with  the  hole  I  shot  in  it," 
Bobby  pointed  out.  "It  was  right  where 
Pritchard  was  when  I  shot  at  it." 

Johnny  nodded. 

"If  we  let  that  get  out,  they'll  have  us  in  as 
witnesses." 

"  We  mustn't,"  said  Johnny. 

Following  this  policy  the  boys  for  the  next 
month  carried  about  an  air  of  secrecy  and  an 
irresponsibility  of  action  very  irritating  to 
everybody.  They  forgot  errands,  they  did 
absent-minded,  destructive  things,  they  were 
much  given  to  long  consultations  behind  the 
wood-shed.  When  they  were  permitted  to  visit 
Mr.  Kincaid  at  the  jail,  they  tried  mysteriously 
to  convey  assurance  of  absolute  secrecy,  but 


THE  MURDER  3U 

succeeded  only  in  appearing  stupid,  frivolous 
and  unsympathetic.  Nevertheless  their  concern 
was  very  real.  Bobby  in  especial  brooded  over 
the  affair  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other  interests. 
The  Flobert  rifle  was  laid  away,  the  printing 
press  gathered  dust.  Over  and  over  he  visual 
ized  the  scene,  until  he  could  shut  his  eyes  and 
reproduce  its  every  detail  --  the  hillside  with  its 
scattered,  half-burned  old  logs,  the  popple 
thicket  shining  white,  the  scrub  oaks  with  red 
rustling  leaves,  the  patch  of  brown  that  looked 
exactly  like  a  partridge ;  and  then  the  whirl  of  the 
cap  in  the  air  as  the  bullet  struck,  and  the  hor 
rible  sinking  feeling  before  he  turned  to  flee. 
A  dozen  small  things  he  had  not  noticed  con 
sciously  at  the  time,  now  stood  out  clear.  He 
remembered  that  the  supposed  partridge  had 
stood  out  against  the  sky;  that  the  ground 
broke  gently  up  just  beyond  the  black  log. 
"Mr.  Kincaid  must  have  been  standing  on  a 
stump,"  he  thought  He  recalled  now  his  own 
exact  position,  and  figured  the  course  of  the 
bullet.  "It  must  have  gone  in  just  at  the  tip 
top,"  he  figured.  "That's  the  only  way  it  could 
have  done  without  hurting  his  head.  Other 
wise,  it  would  have  scalped  him."  Over  and 
over  he  turned  the  facts  until  gradually  he 


31G  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

evolved  an  exact  picture  of  what  had  occurred  — • 
here  was  the  victim,  here  the  murderer.  Inquiry 
disclosed  the  spot  where  Pritchard's  body  had 
been  found.  It  was  up-hill  from  the  spot  Bobby 
had  shot  the  cap  —  and  about  ten  feet  away. 
"He  must  just  have  done  it,"  he  said  with  a 
shudder. 

"Why?"  demanded  Johnny  to  whom  he 
confided  these  reasonings.  "Maybe  it  was 
before, 

"No,"  argued  Bobby.  "Because  then  when 
I  shot  the  cap  off,  if  Pritchard  had  been  alive, 
we'd  have  heard  from  him." 

"  Maybe  Mr.  Kincaid  killed  him  to  keep  him 
from  chasing  us,"  suggested  Johnny. 

Bobby  considered  this  romantic  suggestion 
but  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  said  he,  "there  wasn't  time  for  Mr. 
Kincaid  to  kill  him  and  then  walk  down  to  the 
other  end  of  the  thicket,  He  must  have  run 
when  I  shot." 

"Do  you  think  they'll  convict  Mr.  Kincaid  ?" 

"Papa  says  he  doesn't  think  so,"  said  Bobby. 
"He  says  nobody  can  prove  Mr.  Kincaid  was 
at  the  place." 

"We  could." 

"  We're  going  to  shut  up ! "  said  Bobby  sharply. 


yxm 

THE   TRIAL 


General  opinion  did  not,  however,  share  ML 
Orde's  optimism.     The  circumstantial  evidence 
was  very  strong.     Interest  in  the  trial  was  such 
that  people  came  from  far  out  in  the  country 
to  attend  it.     Every  day  of  the  preliminaries 
the  court-room  was  filled  with  silent  spectators. 
The  boys,  eluding  the  vigilance  of  the  women 
and    utterly    disregarding    specific    commands, 
found    themselves    unable    to    get    beyond    the 
outer    corridor.     Here   they    hung    around    for 
some  time  in  the  vain  hope  of  hearing  some 
thing.     The   heavy   breathing   and   jostling   of 
the  crowd  about  them  was  their  only  reward. 
Finally  they  gave  it  up  and  wandered  out  into 
the  grounds. 

It  was  by  now  nearly  December  of  a  remark 
ably  open  year.  Although  Indian  summer  had 
long  since  gone,  and  although  the  low  black 
clouds  and  heavy  gales  of  late  autumn  had  given 
repeated  warnings,  winter  had  somehow  failed 


317 


318  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

to  arrive.  There  was  as  yet  no  snow;  and 
the  sun,  turned  silver  in  place  of  the  harvest 
gold,  sometimes,  as  now,  dispersed  considerable 
warmth.  In  consequence  of  the  mildness  with 
out  and  the  crowd  within,  the  windows  of  the 
court-room  had  been  lowered  at  the  top,  The 
boys  could  almost  catch  the  words  of  whoever 
was  speaking. 

"Come  on,  let's  shin  up  that  tree,"  sug 
gested  Johnny. 

Immediately  they  acted  on  the  inspiration. 
The  highest  limbs  capable  of  bearing  weight 
were  still  some  three  feet  below  the  window-sills. 
Still,  the  boys  could  hear  plainly  what  was 
going  on,  and  could  see  into  the  room  on  an 
upward  slant. 

Evidently  the  legal  processes  had  been  ful 
filled,  and  the  first  witness  was  giving  his  testi 
mony. 

"I  was  working  in  my  field,  throwing  out 
manure,  when  I  saw  the  prisoner  come  out  of 
the  popple  thicket  on  Pritchard's  place." 

"  How  far  were  you  from  the  thicket  ?" 

"My  field  is  right  across  the  county  road." 

"At  what  point  did  the  prisoner  emerge 
from  the  thicket  as  respects  the  spot  where  the 
body  was  found?" 


THE  TRIAL  319 

"He  came  out  right  opposite,  a  good  quarter- 
mile,  I  should  say." 

"Anything  unusual  in  the  prisoner's  appear 
ance  or  actions?" 

"He  didn't  have  no  hat.     I  noticed  that." 

After  a  few  more  questions  the  witness  was 
excused.  In  an  instant  he  appeared  in  the 
boys'  line  of  vision  and  sat  down. 

Another  witness  was  sworn,  and  deposed 
that  he  had  been  driving  along  the  county  road, 
and  had  also  seen  Mr.  Kincaid  emerge  from 
the  thicket  without  a  hat.  This  witness  like 
wise,  on  being  excused,  crossed  the  room  and 
took  his  seat  near  the  window. 

This  point  established,  the  prosecution  called 
upon  the  man  who  had  found  the  body.  He 
stated  that  he  was  in  the  employ  of  the  deceased ; 
had  gone  out  afoot  to  look  up  a  strayed  cow, 
had  come  across  the  body  late  in  the  afternoon. 
Pritchard  had  been  killed  by  a  knife  thrust 
in  the  throat.  He  lay  on  his  back.  He  had 
carried  a  22-calibre  rifle  with  which  he  was 
accustomed  to  shoot  hawks  and  crows.  The 
rifle  had  been  discharged.  In  looking  about 
for  evidence  witness  had  found  a  cap  lying  by 
a  stump  ten  feet  or  so  down  hill.  He  identified 
the  cap.  He  also  took  a  seat  where  Bobbj 


320  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

and  Johnny  could  see  him  —  a  short  thick-sel 
man  with  a  swarthy  complexion  and  very  oily 
long  black  hair. 

A  witness  was  called  who  identified  positively 
the  cap  as  belonging  to  Mr.  Kincaid. 

At  this  point  the  prosecution  rested.  A  moment 
later  Bobby  heard  again  the  measured,  calm 
tones  of  his  friend,  called  in  his  own  defence. 

"I  know  nothing  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid 
after  the  usual  preliminaries,  "I  was  nowhere 
near  the  scene  of  the  murder.  What  the  first 
witness  had  to  say  as  to  personal  antagonism 
between  Pritchard  and  myself  was  quite  true: 
he  had  ordered  me  off  his  land,  and  very  offen 
sively.  We  had  some  words  at  that  time." 

"When  was  that?"   asked  the  attorney. 

"Some  months  back.  Therefore  I  took 
especial  pains  to  keep  off  his  land,  and  was  at 
the  lower  edge  of  the  thicket  a  good  quarter- 
mile  from  the  place  his  body  was  found." 

"You  did  not  enter  the  thicket?" 

"Only  a  few  feet,  after  the  dog  took  my  cap." 

"How  about  the  cap?" 

"My  retriever,  Curly,  was  playing  with  me. 
I  was  teasing  him  by  waving  the  cap  before 
him.  He  managed  to  get  hold  of  it  and  ran 
with  it  into  the  thicket.  In  a  moment  or  so 


THE   TRIAL  3fc 

lie  came  back  without  it.  I  could  not  find  it, 
nor  could  I  induce  him  to  retrieve  it." 

"When  was  this?" 

"About  two  o'clock." 

"Two  witnesses  have  sworn  they  saw  you 
come  out  of  the  thicket  shortly  before  sundown." 

"That  was  on  my  way  home.  I  tried  again 
to  get  Curly  to  hunt  up  the  cap." 

"How  do  you  account  for  the  cap's  being 
found  at  the  upper  edge  of  the  thicket  ?" 

"I  cannot  account  for  it." 

"Could  the  dog  have  carried  it  that  far  in 
the  time  before  he  returned?" 

"I   do   not   think   so  —  I   am   certain   not." 

"  How  do  you  account  for  the  holes  ?" 

"  They  might  have  been  the  marks  of  Curley's 
teeth,"  said  Mr.  Kincaid  doubtfully. 

"Look  at  them," 

A  pause  ensued. 

"They  certainly  do  not  look  like  teeth  marks," 
acknowledged  Mr.  Kincaid. 

At  this  moment  the  heavy  bell  in  the  engine- 
house  tower  boomed  out  the  first  strokes  of  noon. 
The  boys  nearly  lost  their  holds  from  the  surprise 
of  it.  By  the  time  they  had  recovered,  court  had 
been  declared  adjourned,  and  the  crowds  were 
pouring  forth  from  the  opened  double  doors. 


XXIV 

THE   TRIAL    (CONTINUED) 

By  remarkable  promptitude  and  the  exercise 
of  the  marvellous  properties  ascribed  impartially 
to  the  worm,  the  eel,  and  the  snake,  Bobby  and 
Johnny  succeeded  in  gaining  a  place  in  the 
court-room  for  the  afternoon  session.  It  was 
not  a  very  good  place.  Breast-high  in  front 
of  them  was  a  rail.  Behind  them  pressed  a 
suffocating  crowd.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
rail  were  many  benches  on  which  was  seated 
another  crowd.  This  second  multitude  con 
cealed  utterly  whatever  occupied  the  floor  of 
the  court-room.  Only  when  one  or  another 
of  the  actors  in  the  proceedings  arose  to  his 
feet  could  the  boys  make  out  a  head  and  shoul 
ders.  They  could  see  the  massive  walnut 
desk  and  the  judge,  however;  and  the  lower 
flat  tables  at  which  sat  the  recording  officials. 
And  on  the  blank  white  wall  ticked  solemnly 
a  big  round  clock.  The  second-hand  moved 
forward  by  a  series  of  swift  jerks,  but  watch 

322 


THE  TRIAL  323 

as  he  would  Bobby  could  see  no  perceptible 
motion  of  the  other  two  hands.  In  the  monot 
ony  of  some  of  the  proceedings  this  bland  clock 
fascinated  him. 

Likewise  the  living  wall  before  him  caught 
and  held  his  half-suffocated  interest  —  the  slope 
of  their  shoulders,  the  material  of  their  coats, 
the  shape  of  their  heads,  the  cut  of  their  hair. 
One  by  one  he  passed  them  in  review.  Two 
seats  ahead  sat  a  thick-set  man  with  very  long, 
oily  black  hair.  He  turned  his  head.  Bobby 
recognized  the  man  who  had  found  Pritchard's 
body.  He  nudged  Johnny,  calling  attention 
to  the  fact. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  was  on  his  feet 
making  a  speech.  It  was  interesting  enough 
at  first,  but  after  a  time  Bobby's  attention 
wandered.  The  prosecuting  attorney  was  a 
young  man,  ambitious,  and  ego  was  certainly 
a  large  proportion  of  his  cosmos.  Bobby 
listened  to  him  while  he  spoke  of  the  obvious 
motive  for  the  deed;  but  when  he  began  again, 
and  in  detail,  to  go  over  the  evidence  already 
adduced,  Bobby  ceased  to  listen.  Only  the 
monotonous  cadences  of  the  voice  went  on  and 
on.  The  clock  tick-tocked.  People  breathed. 
It  reminded  him  of  church. 


324  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBB^  ORDE 

A  little  stir  brought  him  back  from  final 
drowsiness.  A  man  in  the  row  ahead  of  him 
wanted  to  get  out.  The  disturber  carried  an 
overcoat  over  his  left  arm,  and  it  amused 
Bobby  vastly  to  see  the  stiff  collar  of  that  over 
coat  rumple  the  back  hair  of  those  who  sat  in 
the  second  row,  As  he  watched,  it  caught  the 
long  oily  locks  of  the  witness  for  the  prosecution. 
With  a  fierce  exclamation  the  man  turned, 
scowling  at  the  other's  whispered  excuse.  When 
he  had  again  faced  the  front,  he  had  rearranged 
his  disturbed  locks. 

After  this  slight  interruption,  Bobby  again 
relapsed  into  day-dreaming.  He  fell  once  more 
to  visualizing  the  scene  of  that  day.  Gradually 
the  court-room  faded  away.  He  saw  the  hill 
side,  the  burnt  logs  on  the  bare  ground,  the 
popples  silvery  in  the  sun,  the  sky  blue  above 
the  hill.  The  patch  of  brown  by  the  rustling 
scrub  oak  glimmered  before  his  eyes.  He  saw 
again  the  exact  angle  it  lay  above  him.  For 
the  hundredth  time  he  looked  over  the  sights 
of  the  rifle,  fair  against  that  spot  of  brown. 
"I  must  have  overshot  a  foot,"  he  sighed,  "or 
it  would  have  taken  him  square." 

And  then  as  he  stared  over  the  sights,  his  finger 
on  the  trigger,  the  imaginary  scene  faded,  the 


THE  TRIAL  325 

familiar  court-room  came  out  of  the  mists  to 
take  its  place.  Slowly  the  brown  spot  at  which 
he  aimed  dissolved,  a  man's  head  took  its  place; 
the  oily-haired  witness  for  the  prosecution 
happened  now  to  occupy  exactly  the  position 
relative  to  Bobby's  attitude  as  had  Mr.  Kin- 
caid's  cap  the  day  of  the  murder.  And  through 
the  slightly  disarranged  long  hair,  and  exactly 
in  line  with  the  imaginary  rifle  sights  Bobby 
could  just  make  out  a  dull  red  furrow  running 
along  the  scalp.  At  this  instant,  as  though 
uneasy  at  a  scrutiny  instinctively  felt,  the  man 
reached  back  to  smooth  his  locks.  The  scar 
at  once  disappeared. 


XXV 

THE    HOLE    IN   THE    CAP 

For  perhaps  ten  seconds  Bobby  sat  absolutely 
motionless  while  a  new  thought  was  born. 
Then,  oblivious  of  surroundings  or  of  the 
exasperated  objections  of  those  near  him, 
he  clambered  over  the  rail  and  wriggled 
his  way  to  the  open  aisle.  Several  tried 
to  seize  him,  but  he  managed  in  some  manner 
to  elude  them  all.  Once  in  the  open 
he  darted  forward  toward  the  astonished 
officials.  His  freckled  face  was  very  red,  his 
stubby  hair  towsled,  his  gray  eyes  earnest. 
The  sheriff  rose  from  his  seat  as  though  to 
stop  him. 

"I  want  to  see  that  cap!"  cried  Bobby  to 
the  blur  in  general.  He  caught  sight  of  it, 
ran  to  seize  it,  looked  at  it  closely,  and  threw 
it  down  with  a  little  cry  of  triumph.  The 
bullet  holes  were  not  both  at  the  top :  one  per 
foration  was  high  up;  but  the  other,  on  the 
left  hand  side,  was  situated  low,  near  the  edge. 


THE  HOLE  IN  THE  CAP  327 

Bobby  knew  that  the  man  who  had  worn  that 
cap  must  have  been  hit. 

The  judge's  gavel  was  in  the  air,  the  sheriff  on 
his  feet,  a  hundred  mouths  open  to  expostulate 
against  this  interruption  of  a  grave  occasion. 

"Mr.  Kincaid  did  not  do  it!"  cried  Bobby 
aloud. 

The  clamour  broke  out.  The  sheriff  seized 
Bobby  by  the  arm. 

"Here,"  he  growled  at  him,  "you  little  brat! 
What  do  you  mean,  raising  a  row  like  this?" 

Bobby  struggled.  He  had  a  great  deal  to 
say.  All  was  confusion.  Half  the  room  seemed 
to  be  on  its  feet.  Bobby  saw  his  father  making 
way  toward  him  through  the  crowd.  Only 
the  clock  and  the  white-haired  judge  beneath 
it  seemed  to  have  retained  their  customary 
poise.  The  clock  tick-tocked  deliberately,  and 
its  second-hand  went  forward  in  swift  jerks; 
the  judge  sat  quiet,  motionless,  his  chin  on  his 
fists,  his  eyes  looking  steadily  from  under  their 
bushy  white  brows. 

"Just  a  moment,"  said  the  judge,  finally, 
"Sheriff,  bring  that  boy  here." 

Bobby  found  himself  facing  the  great  walnut 
desk.  Behind  him  the  room  had  fallen  silent 
save  for  an  irregular  breathing  sound. 


328  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

"  Bobby  Orde." 

"  Why  do  you  say  the  prisoner  —  Mr.  Kincaid 
—  did  not  commit  the  deed?" 

Bobby  started  in  a  confused  way  to  tell  about 
the  cap.  The  judge  raised  his  hand. 

"Were  you  present  at  this  crime?"  he  asked 
shrewdly. 

'Yes,  sir,"  replied  Bobby. 

The  judge  lowered  his  voice  so  that  only 
Bobby  could  hear. 

"Do  you  know  who  murdered  Mr.  Pritchard  ? " 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Bobby  in  the  same  tone, 
"I  do." 

"Who  was  it?" 

"I  don't  know  his  name.     He's  sitting " 

"  I  thought  so,"  interrupted  the  judge. 
"Mr.  Sheriff,"  he  called  sharply.  That  official 
approached.  "Close  all  doors,"  said  the  judge 
to  him  quietly,  "and  see  that  no  one  leaves 
this  room.  Mr.  Attorney,  your  witness  here 
is  ready  to  be  sworn." 

Bobby  went  through  the  preliminaries  with 
out  a  clear  understanding  of  them;  or,  indeed, 
a  definite  later  recollection.  He  was  deadly 
in  earnest.  The  crowd  did  not  exist  for  him. 
Not  the  faintest  trace  of  embarrassment  confused 


THE  HOLE  IN  THE  CAP 

his  utterance,  but  he  got  very  little  forward 
under  the  prosecuting  attorney's  questioning — 
the  matter  was  too  definite  in  his  own  mind  to 
permit  of  his  following  another's  method  of 
getting  at  it.  Finally  the  judge  interposed. 

"It's  not  strictly  in  my  province,"  said  he, 
"but  we  are  all  anxious  for  the  truth.  I  hope 
the  prosecuting  attorney  may  see  the  advisability 
of  allowing  the  boy  to  tell  his  own  story  in  his 
own  way.  Afterward  he  will,  of  course,  have 
full  opportunity  for  cross-questions." 

This   being   agreed   to,   Bobby   went   ahead. 

"Mr.  Kincaid  lost  his  cap,  just  as  he  said, 
and  Curly  carried  it  into  the  woods  and  dropped 
it.  Another  man  came  along  and  picked  it  up 
and  put  it  on.  Then  he  walked  through  the 
thicket  and  came  up  with  Mr.  Pritchard.  He 
knew  where  Mr.  Pritchard  was  because  Mr. 
Pritchard  had  just  shot  his  little  rifle  at  a  hawk 
or  something.  He  stabbed  Mr.  Pritchard,  and 
then  walked  down  hill  and  climbed  up  on  a 
stump  to  look  around.  He  was  facing  down 
hill.  He  saw  Mr.  Kincaid  and  Curly  way 
below.  Just  then  his  cap  was  knocked  off  by 
another  bullet." 

"What  other  bullet?"  interposed  the  prose 
cution  sharply. 


330  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

"That  was  just  an  accident,"  said  Bobby 
confusedly,  "it  happened  to  hit.  It  wasn't 
shot  at  him  at  all." 

"You  mean  a  spent  ball  from  somewhere 
else?  Who  shot  it?  Where  did  it  come 
from?" 

"I'll  'splain  that  in  a  minute.  Then  he  ran 
as  fast  as  he  could " 

That  was  as  far  as  Bobby  got  for  the  moment. 
A  slight  confusion  at  one  of  the  doors  interrupted 
him.  Almost  immediately  it  died,  but  before 
Bobby  could  resume,  the  sheriff  elbowed  his 
way  forward. 

"Laughton  --you  know,  that  second  witness, 
the  fellow  who  worked  for  Pritchard  —  tried 
to  get  out.  I  have  him  in  charge." 

''Hold  him,"  said  the  judge.  The  sheriff 
elbowed  his  way  back  down  the  aisle. 

"How  do  you  know  all  this?"  began  the 
prosecuting  attorney. 

If   Mr.   Kincaid   wore   the   cap,   why   isn't 
his  head  hurt?"   demanded  Bobby. 

"If  the  shot  was  fired  by  Pritchard,  when 
lying  on  the  ground,"  explained  the  attorney, 
"it  would  not  have  scraped." 

"But  it  wasn't,"  persisted  Bobby.  "It  was 
fired  from  down  hill,  and  about  thirty  feet 


THE  HOLE  IN  THE  CAP  331 

away.  That  would  hit  the  man,  wouldn't  it?" 
he  appealed. 

"Certainly." 

"Well,  is  Mr.  Kincaid  hurt?" 

"This,  your  honour,"  said  the  attorney  with 
some  impatience,  "is  beside  the  mark " 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  cry  from  Bobby. 

"He's  gone!"  he  wailed,  pointing  his  hand 
toward  the  seat  where  Laughton  had  been 
sitting. 

"Was    that    the    man?"     asked    the    judge. 

:<Yes,"  said  Bobby,  "and  he's  gotten  away." 

"Mr.  Sheriff,"  said  the  judge,  "examine  the 
man  for  a  scar  or  wound  on  the  head." 

The  sheriff  disappeared.  The  clock  tick- 
tocked  away  five  minutes,  then  ten.  Finally 
the  door  swung  open. 

"Your  Honour,"  said  the  sheriff  clearly, 
across  the  court-room,  "the  man  has  confessed.'* 


XXVI 

THE   SIXTEEN    GAUGE   SHOTGUN 

Bobby  and  his  friend,  Johnny  English,  sat  on 
the  floor  of  Bobby's  chamber  reviewing  the 
exciting  events  of  the  afternoon.  In  the  tumult 
following  the  sheriff's  announcement,  Bobby 
was  temporarily  forgotten.  He  had  slipped 
back  into  the  crowd,  and  from  that  point  had 
followed  closely  all  that  had  ensued. 
Laughton's  confession  merely  filled  in  the  details 
of  Bobby's  surmises.  It  seems  that  Pritchard 
had  had  a  violent  quarrel  with  his  man,  ending 
by  knocking  him  down  and  stalking  off  across 
the  fields.  Mad  with  rage,  Laughton  had 
picked  himself  up  and  followed  without  even 
pausing  long  enough  to  get  a  hat.  He  had  lost 
track  of  his  victim  in  the  popple  thicket,  but 
had  come  across  Kincaid's  cap,  which  he  had 
appropriated.  A  shot  from  Pritchard's  little 
rifle  apprised  him  of  his  enemy's  whereabouts. 
The  murder  committed,  he  had  mounted  a 
stump  to  spy  upon  the  country.  He  had  seen 

338 


THE  SIXTEEN  GAUGE  SHOTGUN        333 

Kincaid  and  his  dog,  and  was  just  about  to 
withdraw,  when  the  cap  was  knocked  from 
his  head  by  a  bullet  which  at  the  same  time 
broke  the  skin  on  his  scalp.  Thinking  himself 
discovered,  he  had  run.  Later  reconnoitring 
carefully,  he  had  seen  two  apparently  unexcited 
small  boys  climbing  into  a  pony  cart  a  half-mile 
away  and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
bullet  had  been  spent,  and  a  chance  shot.  The 
idea  of  incriminating  Mr.  Kincaid  had  not 
come  to  him  until  later. 

Mr.  Kincaid  had  at  once  been  released. 
Under  cover  of  the  congratulations,  the  boys 
made  their  escape. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  ever  figured  it  out!" 
cried  Johnny  for  the  twelfth  time. 

"I  knew  it  must  have  hit  his  head  unless  it 
just  grazed  his  cap,"  said  Bobby,  "and  when 
I  saw  that  scar  — 

"Gee,  it  was  great!"  gloated  Johnny, 
"just  like  a  book!  It'll  be  in  all  the  papers  to 
morrow.  You  saved  Mr.  Kincaid's  life,  didn't 
you?" 

"I  suppose  I  did,"  said  Bobby  complacently. 

At  this  moment  the  open  hot-air  register  began 
to  speak,  carrying  up  the  voices  from  the  rooms 
below  As  the  subject  under  discussion  was 


834  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

the  closest  to  the  boys'  hearts  for  the  moment, 
they  drew  near  to  listen. 

"It's  Mr.  Kincaid  himself!"  breathed  Bobby. 

"  I've  been  trying  to  catch  you  all  the  way  up 
the  street,"  Mr.  Kincaid  was  saying,  "but  you 
walk  like  a  steam  engine. 

"  I  felt  good,"  explained  Mr.  Orde.  "  I  knew 
you  were  innocent,  of  course ;  but  it  looked  dark." 

"Yes,  it  looked  dark,"  admitted  Mr.  Kincaid. 
:<  Where's  that  youngster  of  yours  ?   He  saved  the 
day." 

"I  was  just  going  to  look  for  him.  There're 
a  few  points  I'd  like  to  clear  up.  If  he  saw  all 
that,  why  didn't  he  say  something  before  ?" 

"Don't  know.  But  he  certainly  spoke  to 
the  point  when  he  did  get  going.  Look  here, 
Orde,  I'm  proud  of  that  kid.  I  want  you  to 
let  me  do  something;  he's  old  enough  now  to 
have  a  sure  enough  gun,  and  I  want  you  to  let 
me  give  it  to  him.  Stafford  has  a  little  shotgun 
-16  guage  —  ever  see  one?" 

"Nothing  smaller  than  a  12"  confessed  Orde. 

"  Well,  I  told  him  to  keep  it  for  me.  I'd  like 
to  give  it  to  Bobby.  He's  learned  fast,  and  he's 
paid  attention  to  what  he  learned.  I  don't 
believe  in  guns  for  small  boys,  but  Bobby  is 
careful;  he  doesn't  make  any  breaks." 


THE  SIXTEEN   GAUGE  SHOTGUN       335 

Johnny  reached  over  to  clasp  Bobby  excitedly. 

"Now  we  can  get  partridges!"  he  squealed 
under  his  breath. 

But  Bobby  was  unexpectedly  cold  to  this 
enthusiasm.  He  reached  over  to  close  the 
register.  At  once  the  voices  were  shut  off. 
Then  for  some  time  he  sat  cross-legged  staring 
straight  in  front  of  him.  To  Johnny's  remarks 
he  replied  irritably  until  that  youngster  flounced 
himself  into  a  corner  with  a  book,  ostentatiously 
indifferent. 

Bobby  was  seeing  things.  As  was  his  habit, 
he  was  visualizing  a  scene  that  had  passed, 
recalling  each  little  detail  of  what  had  at  the 
time  apparently  passed  lightly  over  his  con 
sciousness. 

He  saw  again  plainly  the  yellow  sand-hills 
under  his  feet,  and  the  village  lying  below,  its 
roofs  half  hidden  in  the  lilac  and  mauve  of 
bared  branches,  its  columns  of  smoke  rising 
straight  up  in  the  frosty  air.  He  saw  the  sturdy 
round-shouldered  form  in  the  old  shooting  coat, 
the  lined  brown  lean  face,  the  white  moustache 
and  the  eyebrows,  the  kindly  twinkling  eyes 
squinted  against  the  western  light.  He  heard 
again  Mr.  Kincaid's  deep  slow  voice: 

"  Sonny,  you  can  always  be  a  sportsman  — 


336  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

a  sportsman  does  things  because  he  likes  them, 
Bobby,  for  no  other  reason  —  not  for  money, 
nor  to  become  famous,  nor  even  to  win  —  and 
a  right  man  does  not  get  pleasure  in  doing  a 
thing  if  in  any  way  he  takes  an  unfair  advantage 

—  if  you  —  not  the  thinking  you,  nor  even  the 
conscience  you,  but  the  way-down-deep-in-your 
heart  you  that  you  can't  fool  nor  trick  nor  lie  to 

—  if  that  you  is  satisfied,  it's  all  right." 
Bobby  sighed  deeply  and  went  downstairs. 


XXVII 

THE    SPORTSMAN 

He  opened  the  door  and  entered  very  quietly, 
so  that  neither  occupant  of  the  room  saw  him 
before  he  spoke. 

"  I  heard  what  you  said  —  through  the  register 
he  explained.  "But  I  can't  take  the 
shotgun." 

Both  men  turned  and  looked  at  him  curiously, 
the  first  natural  exclamations  stilled  on  their 
lips  by  the  sight  of  his  straight,  earnest  little 
figure  facing  them." 

"Why  not,  Bobby?  asked  Mr.  Orde  at 
last. 

"I  was  the  one  who  fired  that  shot  that  hit 
Mr.  Laughton's  head.  I  did  it  a-purpose." 

"What  for?" 

"I  saw  something  brown  in  the  brush,  and 
I  was  sure  it  was  a  partridge,  so  I  shot  at  it.  I 
really  didn't  know  it  was  a  partridge.  It  just 
looked  brown.  You  told  me  not  to  do  that,  lots 
of  times,  but  I  got  all  excited,  and  forgot.  So 

837 


338  THE  ADVENTURES  OP  BOBBY  ORDE 

you  see  I'm  not  careful,  like  you  said.  I  ought 
not  to  have  any  shotgun." 

"Oh,  Bobby!"  said  Mr.  Kincaid.  "And 
that's  one  of  the  most  important  things  of  all!" 

"I  know,  sir,"  said  Bobby.  "That's  why  I 
thought  I'd  tell  you." 

The  two  men  examined  the  youngster  for 
some  time  in  silence.  A  very  tender  look  lurked 
back  in  their  eyes. 

"What  did  you  do  then?"  asked  Mr.  Orde 
at  last. 

"I  saw  the  cap  fly  up  in  the  air,  and  ran." 

"Yes?" 

"And  then  after  a  little  I  saw  Mr.  Kincaid 
come  out  down  below,  and  I  thought  it  was  all 
right  until  I  got  home." 

"Why  did  you  jump  up  in  court  this  after 
noon  ?" 

"I  knew  where  I  was  standing,  and  I  saw  a 
scar  on  Laughton's  head,  and  then  I  knew  if 
the  holes  in  the  cap  were  low  down,  he  must 
have  been  the  man." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  all  this  before?" 

"I'd  never  seen  the  cap;  and  I  thought  Mr. 
Kincaid  had  done  it.  I  wasn't  going  to  give 
him  away." 

Both  men  burst  into  laughter. 


THE  SPORTSMAN  339 

"  And  you  thought  I'd  kill  a  man ! "  reproached 
Mr.  Kincaid  at  last. 

"I'd  have  done  it  —  to  old  Pritchard,"  main 
tained  Bobby  stoutly. 

After  a  time  Mr.  Kincaid  returned  to  the 
first  subject. 

"  There  is  no  doubt,  Bobby,"  said  he,  "that 
a  man  careless  enough  to  shoot  at  anything 
without  knowing  what  it  is  —  especially  in  a 
settled  country  —  is  not  fit  to  have  a  gun  of  any 
kind.  There  are  plenty  of  people  killed  every 
year  through  just  such  carelessness.  On  that 
ground  you  are  quite  right  in  saying  that  you 
do  not  deserve  the  new  shotgun." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Bobby. 

"But  you  will  never  do  anything  like  that 
again.  You  have  learned  your  lesson.  And 
you  told  the  truth.  That  is  a  great  thing.  It 
is  easy  to  cover  up  a  mistake;  but  very  hard  to 
show  it  when  you  don't  have  to.  I  was  a  little 
disappointed  that  you  forgot  about  shooting  at 
things;  but  I  am  more  than  proud  that  you 
remembered  to  be  a  sportsman.  With  your 
father's  permission,  I'm  going  to  get  you  that 
shotgun,  just  the  same.  We'll  go  down  together 
in  the  morning  to  get  it." 

At   the   end    of   ten   minutes   more,   Bobby 


340  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BOBBY  ORDE 

returned  to  his  room.  He  looked  about  it  as 
one  looks  on  a  half -remembered  spot  visited 
long  ago,  The  place  seemed  smaller;  the  toys 
trivial.  A  deep  gulf  had  been  passed  since  he 
had  left  the  room  a  half-hour  before.  To  his 
eyes  had  opened  a  new  vision.  Little  Boyhood 
had  fallen  away  from  him  as  a  garment.  A 
touch  had  loosed.  All  experience  and  observa 
tion  had  led  the  way;  but  it  was  only  in  expecta 
tion  of  the  supreme  test  of  self-sacrifice. 
Character  changes  radically  only  under  that 
test.  Bobby  had  borne  it  well;  and  now  stood 
at  the  threshold  of  his  Youth. 

He  picked  up  the  Flobert  rifle  and  looked  it 
over. 

"It'll  always  be  handy  to  fool  with,"  said  he  to 
Johnny. 

That    youngster    looked    up    with    sardonic 
humour. 

"Gee,  you're  gettin'  swelled  head  with  your 
new  gun,"  said  he. 


THE   END 


KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN'S 
STORIES  OF  PURE  DELIGHT 

Full  of  originality  and  humor,   kindliness  and  cheer 

THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW.  Large  Octavo.  Decorative 
text  pages,  printed  in  two  colors.  Illustrations  by  Alice 
Barber  Stephens. 

One  of  the  prettiest  romances  that  has  ever  come  from  this 
author's  pen  is  made  to  bloom  on  Christmas  Eve  in  the  sweet 
freshness  of  an  old  New  England  meeting  house. 

PENELOPE'S  PROGRESS.  Attractive  cover  design  in 
colors. 

Scotland  is  the  background  for  the  merry  doings  of  three  very 
clever  and  original  American  girls.  Their  adventures  in  adjusting 
themselves  to  the  Scot  and  his  land  are  full  of  humor. 

PENELOPE'S  IRISH  EXPERIENCES.  Uniformin  style 
with  "Penelope's  Progress.** 

The  trio  of  clever  girls  who  rambled  over  Scotland  cross  the  bor 
der  to  the  Emerald  Isle,  and  again  they  sharpen  their  wits  against 
new  conditions,  and  revel  in  the  land  of  laughter  and  wit. 

REBECCA  OF  SUNNYBROOK  FARM. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  studies  of  childhood—Rebecca's  artis 
tic,  unusual  and  quaintly  charming  qualities  stand  cut  midst  a  circle 
of  austere  New  Englanders.  The  stage  version  is  making  a  phe 
nomenal  dramatic  record. 

KEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA.  With  illustrations 
by  F.  C.  Yohn, 

Some  more  quaintly  amusing  chronicles  that  carry  Rebecca 
through  various  stages  to  her  eighteenth  birthday. 

ROSE  O»  THE  RIVER.  .  With  illustrations  by  George 
Wright 

The  simple  story  of  Rose,  a  country  girl  and  Stephen  a  sturdy 
young  farmer,  The  girl's  fancy  for  a  city  man  interrupts  their  love 
and  merges  the  story  into  an  emotional  strain  where  the  reader  fol 
lows  the  events  with  rapt  attention. 

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A  bit  of  parchment  found  in  the  figurehead  of  an  old  ves 
sel  tells  of  a  buried  treasure.    A  thrilling  mystery  develops. 


LOUIS  TRACY'S 

CAPTIVATING  AND  EXHILARATING  ROMANCES 

May  be  bad  wherever  books  are  sold.      Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list 

CYNTHIA'S     CHAUFFEUR.  Illustrated  by  Howard  Chandler 
Christy. 

A  pretty  American  girl  in  London  is  touring  in  a  car  with 
a,  chauffeur  whose  identity  puzzles  her.  An  amusing  mystery. 

THE    STOWAWAY    GIRL.     Illustrated  by  Nesbitt  Benson. 

A  shipwreck,  a  lovely  girl  stowaway,  a  rascally  captain,  a 
fascinating  officer,  and  thrilling  adventures  in  South  Seas. 

THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  KANSAS. 

Love  and  the  salt  sea,  a  helpless  ship  whirled  into  the  hands 
of  cannibals,  desperate  fighting  and  a  tender  romance. 

THE     MESSAGE.    Illustrated  by  Joseph  Cummings  Chase. 

A  bit  of  parchment  four 
sel  tells  of  a  buried  treasure. 

THE  PILLAR  OF  LIGHT. 

The  pillar  thus  designated  was  a  lighthouse,  and  the  author 
tells  with  exciting  detail  the  terrible  dilemma  of  its  cut-off  in 
habitants. 

THE    WHEEL   Q'FORTUNE.     With   illustrations  by  James 
Montgomery  Flagg. 

The  story  deals  with  the  finding  of  a  papyrus  containing 
the  particulars  of  some  of  the  treasures  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba. 

A    SON  OF   THE  IMMORTALS.      Illustrated     by   Howard 
Chandler  Christy. 

A  young  American  is  proclaimed  king  of  a  little  Balkan 
Kingdom,  and  a  pretty  Parisian  an  student  is  the  power  behind 
the  throne. 

THE   WINGS   OF  THE  MORNING. 

A  sort  of  Robinson  Crusoe  redivivus  with  modern  settings 
ana"  a  very  pretty  love  story  added.  The  hero  and  heroine,  are 
«ihe  only  survivors  of  a  wreck,  and  have  many  thrilling  adventures 
on  their  desert  island. 

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GROSSET  &    DUNLAP'S 

DRAMATIZED  NOVELS 

Original,  sincere  and  courageous — often  amusing — the 
kind  that  are  making  theatrical  history. 

MADAM  E  X.    By  Alexandra  Bisson  and  J.  W.  McCon- 

aughy.      Illustrated    with    scenes   from    the   play. 

A  beautiful  Parisienne  became  an  outcast  because  her  hus* 

T>and  would  not  forgive  an  error  of  her  youth.    Her  love  for 

ler  son  is  the  great  final  influence  in  her  career.    A  tremen* 

dous  dramatic  success. 

THE  GARDEN  OF  ALLAH.    By  Robert  Hichens. 

An  unconventional  English  woman  and  an  inscrutable 
Stranger  meet  and  love  in  an  oasis  of  the  Sahara.  Staged 
this  season  with  magnificent  cast  and  gorgeous  properties. 

THE  PRINCE  OF  INDIA.    By  Lew.  Wallace. 

A  glowing  romance  of  the  Byzantine  Empire,  presenting 
with  extraordinary  power  the  siege  of  Constantinople,  and 
lighting  its  tragedy  with  the  warm  underglow  of  an  Oriental 
romance.  As  a  play  it  is  a  great  dramatic  spectacle. 

TESS  OF    THE    STORM    COUNTRY.     By  Grace 
Miller  White.     Illust.  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 
A  girl  from  the  dregs  of  society,  loves  a  young  Cornell  Uni 
versity  student,  and  it  works  startling  changes  in  her  life  and ' 
the  lives  of  those  about  her.    The  dramatic  version  is  one  of 
the  sensations  of  the  season. 

YOUNG    WALLINGFORD.     By  George    Randolph 

Chester.     Illust.  by  F.  R.  Gruger  and  Henry  Raleigh. 

A  series  of  clever  swindles  conducted  by  a  cheerful  youn& 

man,  each  of  which  is  just  on  the  safe  side  of  a  State's  prison 

offence.    As  "Get-Rich-Quick  Wallingford,"  it  is  probably 

the  most  amusing  expose  of  money  manipulation  ever  seen 

on  the  stage.  ,• 

THE  INTRUSION  OF  JIMMY.    By  P.  G.  Wode-, 

house.    Illustrations  by  Will  Grefe. 
Social  and  club  life  in  London  and  New  York,  an  amateur 
burglary  adventure  and  a  love  story.    Dramatized  under  the 
title  of  "A  Gentleman  of  Leisure,"  it  furnishes  hours  of 
laughter  to  the  play-goers. 

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THE  NOVELS  OF 

STEWART    EDWARD  WHITE 

THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME.  Illustrated  by  Lajaren  A.  Hiller 

The  romance  of  the  son  of  "The  Riverman."  The  young  college 
hero  goes  into  the  lumber  camp,  is  antagonized  by  "graft"  and  comes 
into  the  romance  of  his  life. 
ARIZONA  NIGHTS.  Illus.  and  cover  inlay  by  N.  C.  Wyeth. 

A  series  of  spirited  tales  emphasizing  some  phases  of  the  life 
of  the  ranch,  plains  and  desert    A  masterpiece. 
THE  BLAZED   TRAIL.  With  illustrations  by  Thomas  Fogarty. 

A  wholesome  story  with  gleams  of  humor,  telling  of  a  young 
man  who  blazed  his  way  to  fortune  through  the  heart  of  the  Mich* 
igan  pines. 
THE  CLAIM  JUMPERS.    A  Romance, 

The  tenderfoot  manager  of  a  mine  in  a  lonesome  gulch  of  the 
Black  Hills  has  a  hard  time  of  it,  but  "wins  out"  in  more  ways  than 
one. 
CONJUROR'S     HOUSE.    Illustrated  Theatrical  Edition. 

Dramatized  under  the    title   of  "The   Call  of    the   North.** 

"Conjuror's  House  is  a  Hudson  Bay  trading  post  where  the 
head  factor  is  the  absolute  lord.    A  young  fellow  risked  his  life  and 
won  a  bride  on  this  forbidden  land. 
THE  MAGIC  FOREST.    A  Modern  Fairy  Tale.    Illustrated. 

The  sympathetic  way  in  which  the  children  of  the  wild  and 
their  life  is  treated  could  only  belong  to  one  who  is  in  love  with  the 
forest  and  open  air.    Based  on  fact 
THE  RIVERMAN.    Illus.  by  N.  C.  Wyeth  and  C.  Underwood. 

The  story  of  a  man's  fight  against  a  river  and  of  a  struggle 
between  honesty  and  grit  on  the  one  side,  and  dishonesty  and 
shrewdness  on  the  other. 
THE  SILENT  PLACES.  Illustrations  by  Philip  R.  Goodwin. 

The  wonders  of  the  northern  forests,  the  heights  of  feminine 
devotion,  and  masculine  power,  the  intelligence  of  the  Caucasian 
and  the  instinct  of  the  Indian,  are  all  finely  drawn  in  this  story. 
THE  WESTERNERS. 

A  story  of  the  Black  Hills  that  is  justly  placed  among  the 
best  American  novels.  It  portrays  the  life  of  the  new  West  as  no 
other  book  has  done  in  recent  years. 

THE    MYSTERY.  In  collaboration  with  Samuel  Hopkins  Adams 
With  illustrations  by  Will  Crawford. 

The  disappearance  of  three  successive  crews  from  the  stout 
ship  ** Laughing  Lass"  in  mid-Pacific,  is  a  mystery  weird  and  inscrut 
able.  In  the  solution,  there  is  a  story  of  the  most  exciting  voyage 
that  man  ever  undertook. 

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TITLES    SELECTED    FROM 

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HIS  HOUR.    By  Elinor  Glyn.    Illustrated. 

A  beautiful  blonde  Englishwoman  visits  Russia,  and  is  vio 
lently  made  love  to  by  a  young  Russian  aristocrat.  A  most  unique 
situation  complicates  the  romance. 

THE    GAMBLERS.      By  Charles  Klein  and  Arthur  Hornblow. 
Illustrated  by  C.  E.  Chambers. 

A  big,  vital  treatment  of  a  present  day  situation  wherein  men 
play  for  big  financial  stakes  and  women  flourish  on  the  profits— or 
repudiate  the  methods. 

CHEERFUL  AMERICANS.    By  Charles  Battell  Loomis.    Illus 
trated  by  Florence  Scovel  Shinn  and  others. 

A  good,  wholesome,  laughable  presentation  of  some  Americans 
at  home  and  abroad,  on  their  vacations,  and  during  their  hours  of 
relaxation. 

THE  WOMAN  OF  THE  WORLD.    By  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 

Clever,  original  presentations  of  present  day  social  problems 
and  the  best  solutions  of  them.  A  book  every  girl  and  woman 
should  possess. 

THE    LIGHT  THAT  LURES.    By  Percy  Brebner. 
Illustrated.     Handsomely  colored  wrapper. 

A  young  Southerner  who  loved  Lafayette,  goes  to  France  to 
aid  him  during  the  days  of  terror,  and  is  lured  in  a  certain  direction 
by  the  lovely  eyes  of  a  Frenchwoman. 

THE  RAMRODDERS.        By  Holman  Day.      Frontispiece  by 
Harold  Matthews  Brett. 

A  clever,  timely  story  that  will  make  politicians  think  and  will 
make  women  realize  the  part  that  politics  play— even  in  their 
romances. 

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A  CERTAIN    RICH   MAN.    By  William  Allen  White. 

A  vivid,  startling  portrayal  of  one  man's  financial  greed,  its 
wide  spreading  power,  its  action  in  Wall  Street,  and  its  effect  on 
the  three  women  most  intimately  in  his  life.  A  splendid,  enter 
taining  American  novel. 

IN    OUR    TOWN.    By  William  yillen  White.    Illustrated  by  F0 
R.  Gruger  and  W.  Glackens. 

Made  up  of  the  observations  of  a  keen  newspaper  editor, 
involving  the  town  millionaire,  the  smart  set,  the  literary  set,  the 
bohemian  set,  and  many  others.  All  humorously  related  and  sure 
to  hold  the  attention. 

NATHAN  BURKE.    By  Mary  S.  Watts. 

The  story  of  an  ambitious,  backwoods  Ohio  boy  who  rose 
to  prominence.  Everyday  humor  of  American  rustic  life  per 
meates  the  book. 

THE  HIGH    HAND.    By  Jacques     utrelle.    Illustrated  by  Will 
Grefe. 

A  splendid  story  of  the  political  game,  with  a  son  of  the 
soil  on  the  one  side,  and  a  "kid  glove"  politician  on  the  other. 
A  pretty  girl,  interested  in  both  men,  is  the  chief  figure. 

THE  BACKWOODSMEN.  By  Charles  G.  D.  Roberts.  Illustrated. 
Realistic  stories  of  men  and  women  living  midst  the  savage 
fceauty  of  the  wilderness.     Human  nature    at  its  best  and   worst 
£  well  protrayed. 

YELLOWSTONE  NIGHTS.    By  Herbert  Quick. 

A  jolly  company  of  six  artists,  writers  and  other  clever 
*>lks  take  a  trip  through  the  National  Park,  and  tell  stories  around 
camp  fire  at  night.  Brilliantly  clever  and  original. 

THE  PROFESSOR'S  MYSTERY.      By    Wells    Hastings   and 
Brian  Hooker.    Illustrated  by  Hanson  Booth. 

A  young  college  professor,  missing  his  steamer  for  Europe, 
has  a  romantic  meeting  with  a  pretty  girl,  escorts  her  home,  and 
is  enveloped  in  a  big  mystery. 

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